Author Archives: writ7707

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #64

Hi Writers,

People have unique relationships with their dogs. Digging deep in  your stories and showing how that plays out can illuminate many layers of your character as well as the particular personality of the dog.

I will never forget the moment in the movie “Oliver” when the villain kicks his little dog hard because……who knows why? But in the story Dickens showed how desperate and disturbed the villain was just by that kick. And the reader cringes.

Here’s my dog story. The characters are real but the story is fiction.

Teddy and Murphy

Mom left me alone with my baby brother, Teddy, and now he’s lying in his crib screaming so hard his face is purple.

Annoying. Can’t I just snuggle with Murphy, my new puppy? Mom surprised me with Murphy in the hospital after my operation because I was brave.

Now Teddy’s crying in big gulps. Is he sick? Like I was in the hospital? Oh no.

I pried Murphy off my chest and lifted him into the crib. Teddy put his face next to Murphy’s and fell asleep. “Murphy will make sure you won’t go to the hospital,” I whispered.

Here’s to your wide-awake imaginations, Writers! Do you have a dog story?

LINKING THE ARTS

Teddy and Murphy

A Very Favorite Book about Dogs for children

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #63

Hi Writers,

When young children are diminished, passed by or pushed into the background by adults or other children the result is often a deep feeling of, “Something is wrong with me.” If your  young characters experience such hurts it colors all aspects of who they are. Evoke the hurt and your young person will come alive on the page.

Hemingway said, (something like) “Find where the pain is and write about that.” He also said, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” Here’s my story about Mae, a six-year-old who carries around isolating feelings of not measuring up.

The Plaid Dress

     A lady with a soft round face and gray curls sat down near the front of the bus on a seat facing the aisle. Settling in, she smiled at a little girl in a plaid dress across from her who was sitting next to her mother. The little girl didn’t smile back. Instead she lowered her eyes. The lady with the soft round face saw right away that the little girl’s misty eyes were blinking back a veiled sadness. The lady sensed that this was not a sudden sadness, but one that lived deep inside this little girl.

     “Did you have a nice time in school today, Mae? The mother leaned over and put her arm around her daughter.”

     “Yes.”

     “It was a very soft ‘Yes.’ Mae jiggled her foot in a nervous repetitive motion.

     The lady with the soft round face and gray curls sniffed twice. It was a magical sniff. She was a magical person. She looked at Mae across from her and here’s what she saw.

     It was Mae’s classroom. Her teacher, Mrs. Perkins, was saying, “Sophie, Lisa and Bethany, please come up front by my desk.” Three little girls in plaid dresses got up from their desks and stood beside Mrs.Perkins. “Now you, Peggy, and let’s see, you, Alison. Come up to the front with the others.”

     The five girls giggled and whispered to each other. Mrs. Perkins arranged them side by side in a line and asked them to hold hands.

     “Now there you are, all in plaid dresses,” Mrs. Perkins said. “Go next door and show your principal, Mr. Green, how pretty and adorable you all look.”

     And then the round-faced lady on the bus saw something else in her vision.  She saw a little boy next to Mae stand up from his chair and wave his hand madly at the teacher. “Mrs. Perkins, Mrs. Perkins. Wait. You forgot Mae! She has on a plaid dress!”

     Mrs. Perkins looked at Mae and glanced away. “No, no, not today. Mae has a sweater on.”

     The last thing the lady with the soft round face saw was Mae trying to force a smile. The lady closed her eyes and felt her heart break. The bus pulled over to a stop. Mae and her mother and the lady all got off. The lady leaned down to Mae and said, “May I say that you look so very pretty in that plaid dress! I have a granddaughter about your age and I think I’ll get her a plaid dress for her birthday.” The lady started to walk away, then turned. “She looks a lot like you. Big beautiful eyes and bangs. She lives far away.”

     A tiny smile crept onto Mae’s face. It almost stretched into a big smile. “Thank you,” Mae said to the lady with the soft round face. “Say Hi to your granddaughter from me, Mae.”

To write about a child’s deep sadness, from the child’s perspective, can be challenging. What do you all think, writers?

May your writing run deep in any form you choose: realism, humor, fantasy and poetry.

Mae’s plaid dress

Sophie’s plaid dress

Lisa’s plaid dress

Bethany’s plaid dress

Peggy’s plaid dress

Alison’s plaid dress

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #62

Hi Writers,

Did you ever re-read your writing and cry because you were moved? Are you ever caught in a moment when a line of a play, the resonance of a melody coming through a bell-like voice or the reach of a new skyscraper makes you suck in your breath and blink back tears?

I’ve become increasingly emotional when I encounter something beautiful, something conceived by a person. I feel the deep creative energy, the inspiration and long hours  poured into the work.

I got teary-eyed when the curtain went up on the new Broadway production of “An American in Paris.” Dazzling colors and atmospheric lighting and genius design sprung up in one moment.

I saw this photograph online and my eyes misted over.

What if we took some of our own emotional moments and put them into our characters? Altered to suit our character’s personality? It could be a good way to add another layer to his or her persona. Especially if it’s a surprise.

My character, Samuel H. Mellow, has kept his emotional responses pretty muted. Not by design. He just seemed to be programmed that way. His wife, Sunny, didn’t seem to mind. He was very easy to live with, she said.

Samuel H. Mellow sat down on a bench in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and sighed. His wife had dragged him here and he’d had enough of walking around rooms filled with paintings that all looked alike. His bench was facing Rembrandt’s, “Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer.”

“That man looks like my Grandpa. Kind,” said a small boy sitting next to him. Samuel looked up at the painting. His eyes went to the elderly man’s face and stayed there. He felt himself expand inside. “That’s strange,” he thought. And to his surprise his eyes misted over.

“What’s the matter, Mister?” the boy said. “Don’t you like him?”

“Yes, yes. Of course I like him. I love him. Thank you son, thank you,” Samuel whispered and hurried off to find his wife.

Happy Writing all you talented writers out there! Let’s savor our emotional moments.

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #61

Hi Writers,

In his picture book, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Dr. Seuss created The Grinch, a grouchy old bah-humbug if there ever was one! He dressed up as Santa, squeezed down all the chimneys in town and stole every Christmas tree (with the ornaments,) the twinkle lights and the filled-up stockings, leaving behind only empty hooks where mistletoe and pine cones had hung. Just because he was a real meanie.

The Grinch stole something from me too. My writing time. Usurped by the magical Christmas dance. We decorated the tree with nostalgic ornaments; I got lost in the excitement of presents, wrapping paper and ribbons; I made three versions of cornbread with cranberries, “editing” them until I mostly found the taste I remembered. I was tired at night, but happy.

Here and there I felt little niggles of guilt, longing to be at my desk. I always have little niggles of guilt and longing when I’m not writing something. The empty space inside doesn’t feel good.

The Grinch stole my writing time but he filled it with Christmas instead. Little sixteen-month-old Teddy, just beginning to toddle around like a miniature person, holding out his arms to me, his Gramzie, despite his sniffles. My heart melts. And the fourteen-month-old twins, Sadie and Layla, insisting on crawling up the stairs, rocking and clapping to any strain of music. My heart keeps on melting. I was immersed in a constant state of delight and family love as well as family dramas.

So Mr. Grinch. Guess what? Your grabby ways were a blessing. I’m refreshed and ready to snuggle up with my computer again, bringing an extra dose of awareness to my writing journey.

Did the Grinch steal your writing time too, writers? He has to go away now, or better yet morph him into your ally. In the book the Grinch loves Christmas in the end and brings happiness to the town. I might even let him sit next to me at my desk.

Much inspiration and soul-satisfying writing moments to you all in 2016!

LINKING THE ARTS

A Holiday Word: Gift… Every moment can be a possible gift to a writer, especially the unlikely, frustrating, mysterious ones.

Image: Ebenezer Scrooge, the grandfather of all the bah-humbugs, in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

Writing Practice and Meeting Up with Your MUSE

Writing Leap #60

Hi Writers,

It’s Thanksgiving season and a writing friend suggested writing about our gratefuls. This can be a lovely writing journey and can touch deep down to a place where creativity lives. Writing our thank-you thoughts can crystallize our own personal moments as well as moments for your characters.

Give your characters one of your thank-you thoughts. Or ask them, “Are you grateful for anything?” Your character may surprise you and take you into one of their interior moments.

Here’s mine.

There are some moments that give me glimmers into my soul. To twirl under a tree and be part of that dance when fall leaves swirl to the ground. To bring my baby grandchildren to a pumpkin patch and see those new toothless grins. I’m grateful for the wonder. Even crying about the Paris attacks brings me closer to my humanity. So yes, such moments for me, happy and sad, are simple ones. They reach wide and make me more available as a person. They help to withstand the wallops, light and heavy. I’m grateful, really, just to be here.

Enjoy your Muse who might be sitting next to you at the Thanksgiving table. Happy Writing and Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Writing Practice and Meeting Up with Your MUSE

Writing Leap #59

Writing the Incident

Hi Writers out there,

Things happen to us every day. Ho Hum things. Like spilling a box of clementines on the super market floor. Or finding a stash of acorns on the back seat of the car. I find that almost anything can ignite a story if I don’t get all “writerly” about it and just let my imagination fly me on its back to who knows where? Like a father and a son in a car, for example.

Dad does not stop lecturing me about defensive driving habits. Honestly? I don’t know how he can concentrate on the road and go into such detail about safety behind the wheel plus horrifying possibilities–at the same time.

Get this. As we approach the entrance to a four lane highway he says, “Always, always ease up to the highway slowly, Teddy, and look around you.” He gives me his, “I’m wise, you are not,” look. Doesn’t he realize I’m fourteen and know everything there is to know about driving a car?

Suddenly a car swerves around our Jeep from behind, budges ahead of us and zooms onto the highway.

“What the heck?” we both say.

The car zips over to the left lane, cutting off cars in its way. Then switches lanes back and forth to get ahead. Dad tries to keep up with it lane to lane. Clearly he was forgetting his own advice. “I have to get a glimpse of this idiot driver,” he says. “Has to be a real jerk.”

We pull next to the idiot driver and stare.

It’s Grandma.

She pretends not to see us and pulls her hat lower on her face. My cell phone rings. “Teddy? Don’t tell Grandpa about my driving style. Just tell him I’m a real slowpoke on the road. I love you.” I hear the dial tone.

“I guess it wasn’t Grandma who taught you to drive,” I say to Dad. He had to laugh. He grins at me ad I feel real close to him in that moment. I sort of feel we will laugh about this together for a long time.

***

The inciting incident for this story was just one moment when someone pulled in front of me and dashed onto the highway. I actually pulled over and stopped to write down my imaginary scenario. That’s why I always travel with notebook and pens. You never know when your muse will snuggle up.

Here’s to all of our imaginations!

LINKING THE ARTS

The Blue Boat: A painting of a father and son by Winslow Homer

A Good Word: Bonding, as in father and son moments when their hearts meet in familiarity and love.

Writing Practice and Meeting Up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #58

Hi Writers,

Isn’t it extraordinary how so much in our world can nurture our creative souls? A hill of sun bright orange pumpkins piled up next to haystacks on a farm. A small sculpture of a whimsical horse by Picasso. A warm table setting with crystal sparkling in candlelight next to soft blue napkins.

As writers we can be open to any experience that expands our creative sensibilities and helps us write with a ripe imagination.

For those who are inclined, viewing a work of art is one way to continue developing our instincts as an observer, to own our experience and reinforce our repertoire of emotions. Simply for the feeling of being moved.

Philippe Delaunay, a French art collector and connoisseur, cajoles us to do just that. Enter the world of the artist, he says, and just feel. Without any preconceived notions about style, technique or an artist’s repertoire. He writes:

Is it useless to try and explain a work of art?

Or is a work of art sufficient unto itself? More than ever we are subjected to a flood of literature by art critics and art historians attempting to show us the where and the whys, seeking to interpret what an artist has felt or to reveal what the work “means.”

This makes no sense…..

Let’s let a current work of art live for itself, without filling up the air with artistic explanations that are so often superficial. A work of art must be allowed to breathe freely and defend its own existence just by being. True artists are visionaries. They unconsciously approach that which is invisible and try to make it visible. It is difficult, if not impossible, for anyone other than the artist to affix his own words or sentences to someone else’s vision, without often becoming guilty of misguided or biased interpretations.

Through his own writings the artist himself may explain his creative vision and offer his thoughts in words. Here words and images do become a cohesive whole.

What is important for the observer of a work of art is to approach the work with his whole self without asking questions, without having read or listened to commentaries—and simply let himself be pulled into the world of the artist, bringing about moments of communion, moments of silence.

A work of art speaks for itself and if words are necessary to explain it then it is no longer a work of art. 

Translated by Cynthia Magriel Wetzler

***

So writers. Don’t look at the plaques next to the painting for titles and dates. Jump in and find your own experience. Maybe the feeling will inspire a story totally unconnected to the facts of the painting itself.

What do you think? Agree wholeheartedly? Disagree violently? Let me know!

LINKING THE ARTS

Jackson Pollack

I looked at this painting for a long time. Got inside of it. It frightened me. Then I wrote a story about a lost child.

Good word: Uncluttered. As in a pure state of mind open to authentic experience.

No books on artists or art criticism. So you can have your own time with the work of art. Not someone else’s.

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #57

Writers and the Pleasure of Nostalgia

Hi Writers Out There,

Does your mind ever float back into the folds of an old memory and you feel yourself grinning, or wincing or blushing? Can you capture that feeling before it flies off, a little hovering bird, half glimpsed, that disappears into a cloud? I like to ground the feeling of the memory with quick notes to be filled out later. It’s great writing practice to take these jottings and turn them into a little personal essay. Just for the pleasure of trying to write something well. And the pleasure of having written it.

When I’m tired, or disappointed in a book I’m reading, or for no reason, I sometimes reach for one of my old Nancy Drew mystery books from my childhood. Mine are the original Nancy Drew’s with slightly torn book jackets. There she is on the covers, Nancy Drew Girl Detective, with her high heels and bouncy blond hair tied with a bow, creeping up on some unsavory character. How I love these books. Yes, yes, despite all the adverbs and Nancy’s perfection in every way, I love them.

I was so taken with these mystery books as a child and rereading them now rekindles the flush of that same pleasure. I veer towards being a literary snob and normally I would never enjoy such writing as, “The gypsy Anton smiled evilly at Nancy.” Or, “So! He said gloatingly.” But when I’m reading Nancy Drew the adverbs just amuse me. You say, “But Nancy Drew? Please. She’s just a cardboard character, polite and nice with gumption.” I say, “Who cares?” You say, “But you never know what she’s feeling,” and I say, “Who cares?”

When Nancy barges into forbidden gypsy camps to look for a nasty thief who threatens her, I barge in with her all over again, remembering myself at ten years old curled up in a big armchair, lost in the drama. Oh, Nancy is fearless! Her lawyer father, Carson Drew, bless him, recognizes and marvels at her unique sleuthing abilities. I love that he is so proud of her, that he encourages her, that he gives her cases to pursue. “I trust your judgment, Nancy,” he says. He’s the papa bear who lets his little cub (a girl! and it’s the 1940’s) explore the forest on her own, always a phone call away.

There have been many modernized editions of Nancy Drew, written by several authors, all called Carolyn Keene. I would never read one. In the newer versions the images and language of Nancy Drew’s world are more contemporary. What brings me back to that armchair where the ten-year-old me imagined what it was like to have the spunk of Nancy Drew is the flavor of the language and the old-fashioned images in the original versions.

         As in The Clue in the Old Album, where Nancy’s friends, George (a girl) and Beth say, “We’re not as good sailors as you, Nancy. Your spirit would win anything for you.” Nancy replies, “No. You’re grand sailors.”

         When a telephone operator’s voice cuts into Nancy’s call she hears, “Your time is up. If you wish to talk longer, deposit five cents please.”

         Or, the description of Nancy’s sort-of boyfriend. He pops up once in awhile. We read, “Nick Nickerson was an Emerson college student who had long admired Nancy.” Long admired! Today’s teens might wonder what that meant.

And the best, “Nancy drives a snappy roadster.” It’s the language and sensibility of an era that gets me.

So writers, good feelings from old memories can float in and out of our minds. Capturing one and turning it into a little piece of writing is great writing practice. Nostalgia can be a lovely place to go.

Happy Writing Everybody,

LINKING THE ARTS

Lost in a Book

Jesse Wilcox Smith “Girl Reading“

Good Word: gumption, as in Nancy Drew’s resourcefulness

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #56

Hi Writers,

My sister, Laurie, and I were laughing recently and reminiscing about our late mother’s wonderful farm town expressions. They were part of her even after many years of living outside a big city. Mary Magriel was a country girl from upstate New York and her turns of phrase revealed so much about her nature, her background, her era and what tickled her.

What about giving your characters expressions that express their personalities, perhaps their biases or fears. Particular turns of phrase, either unique to your character or not, is one way to give readers a gateway into your character’s make-up and your fictional world.

So writers, listen to your characters! How do they express themselves? They may be telling you a lot.

Mary Magriel’s Expressions: What they reveal about her.

Some of these are doozies. Her word. Thank you to my sister for remembering so many and for enjoying them together all over again.

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

Our mother would persist until she figured out a solution. Nothing was too much for her. Fitting things in a tiny closet, dashing her famous tomato seedlings over to a friend right before it was time to prepare dinner.

“I like to trade at the local butcher.”

Does anybody today say, “trade at the “A &P?” No! Trade is a farm town term from an era gone by. I would think it came from the fact that farmers traded their crops for goods. Our mother “traded” with a sharp eye for quality.

“My heart is klopping.”

As in beating hard. She either made this up or it was some version of a Yiddish word. Our mother, a Protestant, adored Jewish expressions. Maybe it was an expression of her love for our father who was Jewish and who loved to joke around with old Yiddish sayings. She would laugh and laugh, pleasing our father no end.

“Slower than molasses in January.”  This just sounds really small town.

“Your father took us all the way around Robinson’s barn.”

There was no Robinson’s barn. It was how she expressed getting lost. Barns evoke rural environments and that’s where she grew up.

I wish my sister and I could remember more. Her farm town-isms bring her back.

Happy Writing! May you create many perfect expressions for your characters.

LINKING THE ARTS

A Wonderful Book

A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley: An authentic rural voice and the winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1992

A Funny Word

Hayseed, as in country boy. Slightly insulting. My father occasionally teased my mother about her high school boyfriend. “Only a hayseed like Tommy would say, ‘No matter how thin you slice it, it’s still baloney,'” my father kidded.

“Robinson’s Barn”

Red Barn by Esther Marie Versch

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #55

Hi Writers,

It was like being led into a room of Writer’s Secrets and opening a box marked, “Image Systems.” It was enough to turn this writer’s head around and wonder, “How did I ever think I could get to the soul of my story without digging into my imagination and pulling up just the right images to evoke my story’s world?

In a recent workshop at the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators Conference in Massachusetts, author and teacher Tim Weed elaborated on the magic of imagery. The kind that takes us beyond surface descriptions to the essence of the story’s world. Writers do this, he says, with specific sensory details that are part of a broader category of images and integral to the story. The images come from the writer’s subconscious and hit the reader’s subconscious as well.

For example: Tim Weed points out the imagery in Phillip Pullman’s The Golden Compass where there are, “…images of the north: icecaps, polar bears, the northern lights.” The north is the larger category of images and the rest are the all-important specifics.

See Tim Weed’s essays: http-//weedlit.blogspot.#4689A5

                                                   timweed.net/.webloc

Have you ever considered your imagery, writers? I think it’s a game-changer and can take your writing from really good to beyond good. Thank you so much, Tim Weed. Imagery may be a writing secret to some but it’s an exciting gift to me.

Here is my attempt. Not easy to try and make it right! But along with everything else writers think about I have found it thrilling to switch gears and put my focus where I dream. Perhaps we have all done this already. For me it has never been focused in quite this way. The passage is from my children’s middle-grade novel in progress. Maggie is nine years old.

Maggie’s ocean cove was empty and the surf sounded sleepy, like a lullaby. She sniffed the salty air. It smelled different, more like honey and lemon peel. Uh oh, Grammy Apple’s scent. Grammy Apple and her witchy magic? She closed her eyes and felt herself floating in a wide-awake dream. Suddenly little white clamshells, lots of them, and inky blue mussel shells sketched themselves into a fancy flower pattern on the wet sand. Maggie stared at the shells arranged like petals with strings of seaweed for stems. Draw, draw the shells my darling grandchild. The words slid right down the dunes into Maggie’s ears. You will be accepted into the Nantucket Art Fair.

Imagery, the kind Tim Weed is talking about, is a challenge! But go ahead, writers! Editing is what we do over and over, until our gut tells us, “Yes! I’ve got it!” Isn’t it worth it? You know there is no better feeling in the universe, right?

LINKING THE ARTS

For evocative imagery in the very first paragraph, Tim Weed’s book, Will Poole’s Island

 With the images of the visual artist, the cover of Will Poole’s Island evokes a gray, moody ocean with a lone boat that looks very small on the dark horizon. We get a strong feeling of the book.

 Word of the Moment: Imagery, as in writerly imaginings.