Writing Practice and the Muse who is ALWAYS THERE
Due to problems with my computer, now fixed, some of my subscribers did not receive my latest post, WRITING THE GESTURE, September 20th. Please click on WRITING THE GESTURE again to read it. Sorry and thanks.
Writing Practice and the Muse who is ALWAYS THERE
Writing Leap #45
WRITING THE GESTURE
Hi Writers Out There,
A small organic gesture can be a microscope into a character’s larger inner world. Like the guy who nudges you aside without looking at you so he can get on the elevator first. Or the child who fixes her grandpa’s crooked glasses. The reveal can be for those characters who observe the gesture, sometimes for those who make the gesture and always for the reader.
Here’s my gesture story.
I had never been 12,000 feet up in the Colorado Rockies where the air was thin and pure and the untouched alpine wildflower meadow stretched lavender in front of me. I wasn’t at home there yet. But I so wanted to be.
Hiking up the pass with two locals, Karen and Bruce, I could feel how familiar and bonded they were with the rocks, sparse grasses and shifting expanse of clouds and blue,blue sky. As we hiked higher I began to feel my fascination inspired by theirs.
A little brown bug landed on my shoulder. As Karen mused to us about the sunset, she flicked the tiny bug off my shirt into her hand with great tenderness, without appearing to notice it. It was like a reflex. Killing it was as odious an idea to her as eating it. She sent him off on his way and continued with her thoughts on the orange clouds.
A tiny unconscious gesture can be so full, so revealing. In that moment I saw into Karen’s soul. I understood that she revered everything that lived up in those mountains with a tenderness that spilled over to the rest of her life. Even a tiny bug.
This story took place a long time ago but I have never forgotten it. In one moment my pleasure in mountain spruce, red coyotes and purple columbine deepened into reverence and wonder and I have gratefully become over the years ever more intimate with the natural world around me wherever I am. It has been testimony to the strength of Karen’s gesture
So Writers, I find “gesture-observing” fun. Conversing casually with strangers, watching people interact in public places. Noticing something an actor does in a play or movie. Try it. See anything you can use for your characters? It’s great writing practice for revealing your character without his even knowing it!
Happy Writing and People Watching Everyone,
LINKING THE ARTS
About bugs, I find Charlotte the spider in E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web irresistible.
Writing Practice and the Muse Who is ALWAYS THERE
(Just be nice to her. Close your eyes and go quietly to the place inside where she blooms)
Writing Leap #44
Hi Writers Who Love Bookstores and Libraries,
I bet that most of us who write choose our next book to read even before we’ve finished reading the one currently open on our lap. We can’t help ourselves. Books are sustenance to writers. We read for the deep pleasure of cuddling in with a book; we read for the wonder of discovering a glorious sentence, plot or character; we read and gasp at how perfectly thought out and evocative a paragraph can be. We take in how it’s done.
We may read badly written books and choose not to finish them. Or we can plow through them and be reminded of the dreariness of reading a text full of cliches, adverb excess, or one-dimensional characters. Do these no-no choices pop up in our own writing from some automatic reflex?
Here are some examples of writing, among a trillion possibilities, that make me bow down to the craft.
Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.
“Bailey sat wrapped in his decision and anesthetized by youth…I left his room because, and only because, we had said all we could say. The unsaid words pushed roughly against the thoughts that we had no craft to verbalize, and crowded the room to uneasiness.”
Angelous’s fresh take on cliches.
“‘God helps those who help themselves.’ She had a store of aphorisms which she dished out as the occasion demanded. Strangely, as bored as I was with cliches, her inflection gave them something new, and set me thinking for a little while at least.”
P.D. James, Death Comes to Pemberly
“Pratt made no reply to Darcy’s command that he should stay with the chaise but it was apparent that he was unhappy at being left alone and his fear communicated itself to the horses, whose jostling and neighing seemed to Darcy a fitting accompaniment to an enterprise he was beginning to think ill-advised.”
“Every few steps they halted, called out and then listened in silence, but there was no reply. The wind, which had been hardly heard, suddenly dropped and in the calm it seemed that the secret life of the woodland was stilled by their unwonted presence.”
Happy Writing Everybody. May all the treasures you discover in your reading inspire your stories.
What are YOU reading right now? Do you like it? Let me know!
A LOVELY PLACE FOR WRITERS
The New York Public Library
On Fifth Avenue in New York City
Don’t forget to touch the lions. They harbor the writer’s muse.
Described as, “A love letter to the pleasures of reading,” Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose is a special book suggested by my writing friend, Bob Zaslow.
Interviews with National Book Award Winners and Finalists, The Book That Changed my Life, edited by Diane Osen provides more choices. 
Writing Practice and The Muse Who is Always There
Writing Leap #43
Hi Writers Out There,
An anecdote is a short piece, written or spoken. (Short except for those who go on and on. We writers, of course, feel for our readers and listeners and keep our anecdotes bared to the bones.)
The anecdote can portray a situation or something that happened. Fiction or non-fiction. Sometimes it’s funny or thought-provoking or scary. It’s meant to entertain or enlighten.
It usually starts off with “You won’t believe this.” Or, “The silliest (most terrifying, surprising, etc.) thing happened.
So writers, find your anecdote! I’ve discovered it’s great practice for writing prose that is clear, simple and evocative.
Here’s my attempt.
An Adventure in Another World
It was imperative to find a large, long watermelon. The smaller round ones available in the markets would not do at all for my project for my daughter’s baby shower. This entailed carving the watermelon into the shape of a cradle, scooping it out, making two baby grapefruit faces (she’s having twins) and filling it up with fruit salad.
My husband Garrett and I headed to Hunt’s Point Wholesale Market in the Bronx, despite warnings that it’s off limits to the general public. I was obsessed.
The Hunt’s Point Market is a huge complex of warehouses. We walked in-between the 18 wheelers lined up everywhere and found the watermelon people. Up a ramp and an outdoor staircase we came upon hundreds and hundreds of shiny, green watermelons. As well as crowds of strong, busy workers hauling them and calling to each other in Chinese, English, Spanish and maybe Russian.
A grouchy lot. All men. Were they all ex-longshoremen?
I felt a surprising flicker of fear. Me, the only woman.
Someone pointed to Freddy, the manager, who was occupied behind a counter. He barely lifted his head, true annoyance wafting in our direction. We begged. He jabbed his finger in the direction of a huge bin.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “It’s a party for my daughter. She’s having twins.”
What was wrong with me? He didn’t care a fig that my daughter was having twins.
A non-communicative worker climbed up into the high bin and brought down a lovely, huge watermelon.
Freddy wouldn’t accept any money. He waved us off. For a second he actually smiled at me.
Garrett clutched the heavy watermelon to his chest and we walked down the ramp. I held my breath. My muscles tightened too. If he dropped it? There was no way we could go back up there.
Happy Anecdotes Everyone, 
LINKING THE ARTS
A Book I Like
A Good Word
Plop: As in finding oneself plopped in the middle of a new situation
The Photo, dedicated to Freddy
Writing Practice and The Muse Who is Always There
Writing Leap #42 Writing About Young Children
Hi All You Writers Out There,
Young children love to look up to you and announce the most surprising things; little bursts of observation that can be funny, troublesome, endearing or savvy. We are often charmed because they are small and new to this world.
Capturing a ‘child moment’ is sometimes a challenge for writers. We are not three years old and unless we have young children around us we may harbor pre-conceived notions about what childhood feels like. Our memory may not be reliable and cliches about children like to insinuate themselves into our writing.
Cliche is a place we do not want to be. As much as possible I try to creep into the child’s experience and write that. With adults reacting to children I try for a spontaneous response.
Go ahead writers and create a story around a child. You may feel refreshed by this work, as I do.
Here’s my attempt.
The outdoor arbor of branches and twigs was bedecked with small flowers and ribbons. The light scent of roses wafted among the seated wedding guests and you could feel the buzz of anticipation and excitement in the small grassy meadow. The groom and minister were in place under the arbor and the processional was about to begin.
All eyes were turned to the back where Oliver, the five-year-old ring bearer, held fast to his satin pillow that cradled the two gold rings. He was standing with the groomsmen ready to walk down the aisle. Light music from the musicians’ violins began to fill the meadow.
Oliver pushed his round glasses higher on his nose, looked up at the best man and whispered, “Don’t you think this is so romantic?”
The whisper was a loud whisper and it floated down the aisle bringing on many soft chuckles.
Halfway through the service, during a relative’s recitation of “How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways,” a small voice whispered to the best man, “I have to go to the bathroom. Badly.” It was again a loud whisper and again amused, delighted titters spread though the gathering.
The minister paused and grinned down at Oliver. The relative stopped reciting.
“Me too,” one of the little flower girls piped up.” “I have to, too.” The other flower girl, a toddler, stepped out of line.
Oliver’s mother rushed up and escorted the three to the house. They were squeezing their legs together.
There were only one or two “shouldn’t the mother have taken care of this beforehand?” Haven’t they ever had a similar emergency?
Happy Writing Everyone,
LINKING THE ARTS
A Huge Responsibility. Must arrive safely to the alter.
Children’s Writer’s Word Book by A. Mogilner and T. Mogilner
When writing from a child’s P.O.V. I really like to consult this vocabulary book organized by grade in school. If the child is a genius (and most mothers’ children are geniuses) you can skip a grade or two.
Maya Angelou died on May 28, 2014, four days ago. When I heard the news, a moment from “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” a book of hers I had read a long time ago, rose up into my memory. The jolt it created was as strong as it was back then. Here’s how I remember it.
She wrote of the night when she and her mother snuck into the office of the town’s white dentist; round to the back and ever so quiet. Both shaking. It was after hours, of course, and close to midnight. No coloreds allowed anywhere near there. Her toothache was splitting her head in half but if they were caught–oh, boy. The two of them, and possibly the dentist, would have been tossed in jail to face unthinkable brutalities.
Just last year in 2013 Maya Angelou appeared before an audience filled with respect for her, a woman whose strong soul reached far beyond itself to enfold all of us, everywhere. Accepting the Norman Mailer Lifetime Achievement Award, she said, “Just Imagine.” And after a pause she said, “Just IMAGINE.”
Her warm, low, heavy voice resonated right out of the video into the center of my being.
Yes, Maya Angelou, a little girl in the 1930’s raised in Sparks, Arkansas, a dot in the deepest of the deep south, was now receiving another in a litany of high honors for her poetry, autobiographies and speeches; work that illuminates the way to decent, moral, O.K. behavior amongst human beings.
If I had been her friend, and oh how I wish that could have been, I would have tried to absorb her unique humanity into my psyche. How extraordinary that would have been. It tickles me that she fudged about how many husbands she had during her lifetime. She didn’t want to project a flighty image. I love her.
Writing Practice and The Muse Who is Always There
Writing Leap #41 Writing the Literary Snippet
Hi Writers,
A literary snippet is just what it sounds like; a snip of a moment captured on the page. It’s immediate, just a few sentences and complete in and of itself.
Ideas for snippets can pop into your imagination from anywhere; a memory flash from your childhood, an observation on the train, a glimpse of something moving in the natural world.
Want to try it? Snippets challenge our ability to write what we really feel and what we really mean with no extra words. I think distilling thoughts is harder to do than it may seem. It takes deep pondering as we revise and delete in our heads. But it’s what we all must do in all our writing. Offer moments to our readers that toll like a steeple bell and appear effortless.
Here’s my attempt.
Once, when I was four, I held my mother’s hand and lifted one leg after the other up the high stairs to get on the bus. She let me reach up and put the change in the money collector.
I stared at a lady who sat up very straight, hands folded in her lap. There she was. Hair rolled up under a brimmed hat with flowers sticking up in back. A mouth that was a thin, straight line. An umbrella by her side. The lady frowned at me.
“Mommy.” I pulled my mother down and whispered loudly in her ear. “Is that Mary Poppins?”
My mother’s cheeks flushed. She directed an apologetic smile to the lady and led me to a seat. She winked at me and gave me a hug. Then she said, “Maybe.”
Happy snippet writing everyone and Happy Spring
LINKING THE ARTS
Original drawings by Mary Shepard for Mary Poppins and Mary Poppins Comes Back, by P.L. Travers
A Book I Love
Recommending Again: Several Short Sentences About Writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg, former op-ed writer for the New York Times. I would sleep with this book under my pillow if I believed I would absorb all of his insights permanently in my creative unconscious. It’s about writing sentences that say what you want them to say.
A Word I Love
ponder, as in relaxing into finding the right tone, the right rhythm, the right word in your writing
Writing Practice and The Muse Who is Always There
Writing Leap #40 Writers Who Read Poetry
Hi Writers,
Take a moment away from your writing time, find a comfy place to sit, open a poetry collection and read a poem at random. Breathe in the poetic lushness of the phrases, the evocative images and the essence of the words that open up to a larger universe. Close your eyes for a moment and let it all swirl around inside. Then read it once more, to be enchanted all over again with what words can do.
The poet is the writer’s muse, no matter your genre. A poem can show us how to cluster words together so they say what we mean, a lightning bolt from writer to reader.
I read this poem from time to time. It kind of haunts me. The perfect word in a perfect phrase is a lovely thing.
Picking Blueberries, by Mary Oliver New and Selected Poems, 1992
Once, in summer
in the blueberries
I fell asleep, and woke
when a deer stumbled against me.
I guess
she was so busy with her own happiness
she had grown careless
and was just wandering along
listening
to the wind as she leaned down
to lip up the sweetness.
So, there we were
with nothing between us
but a few leaves, and the wind’s
glossy voice
shouting instructions.
The deer
backed away finally
and flung up her white tail
and went floating off toward the trees—
but the moment before she did that
was so wide and deep
it has lasted to this day.
I’m stopping at these last three lines (there is more to the poem) because they are the ones that linger for me and the ones that have often affected my thought processes as I’m writing.
Happy Writing all you Wonderful Writers out there!
LINKING THE ARTS
A Visual of the deer/blueberry experience
A Good Phrase:
the expanded moment
A Story Poem for children, grown-ups and writers: Words with Wings by Nikki Grimes, 2013. For me the story shines behind and beyond the words.
Writing Practice and The Muse Who Is Always There
Writing Leap #38 Re-Writing the Prologue
Hi Writers,
With rare exceptions it seems the eyes of literary agents and editors glaze over when they open a fiction manuscript and see Prologue. They may groan.
I’ve heard:
It’s just an attention grabber, a “look at me I’m a fabulous writer.”
Unnecessary background that could be weaved into the main story.
Not crucial to the understanding of the plot.
If you’ve written a prologue and it’s your “darling,” you might just ditch it. It’s hard to ditch it. But your real story will start with your first line in Chapter One. Then you can turn the prologue into a short short. Or expand it into something longer that veers in a different direction from your manuscript.
The same principles of good fiction writing apply to scenes, chapters, short stories and novels: An opening that captures the reader, a smooth story arc from conflict to resolution and a strong golden thread that holds the basic premise together throughout.
To re-write a prologue into a short short, for example, may just require a few tweaks and shifts. Great practice for your craft.
My prologue to my middle-grade novel was guilty of every prologue no-no. Full of literary self-indulgences. I loved it. I reinvented it into the short short that follows. (for more on the short short: www.writinglikeadancer.com/theshortshortstory)
Two Lizzies But Really Just One
If anyone saw Lizzie twirling round and round along the ocean’s edge, clutching a letter high over her head, they might think she was showing off for the seagulls. But she was protecting her letter from the salty spray of the summer waves as they thundered on to shore.
Imagine, an invitation from the Head of the Art Department at college.
YOU HAVE WON THE STUDENT ART COMPETITION AND ARE INVITED TO EXHIBIT YOUR WORK IN A ONE-WOMAN SHOW THIS OCTOBER.
CONGRATULATIONS!
Lizzie was alone on the beach and headed towards her small cove, a sanctuary since childhood. She rested on the silvery driftwood log, her dreaming place. The sun warmth of the log melted into her bare thighs. A seagull swooped by her. Surely his flapping wings said, “Take a bow Lizzie!”
This driftwood log has survived storms and gales, she thought. Like me. I’ve survived storms, personal storms.
She stretched her legs out onto the warm sand and fanned her feet back and forth like a windmill. Happy, she thought. I’m happy.
It surprised her to see a young girl way down the empty beach walking her way. The access to this beach through the salt marsh was a local secret.
She’s beachcombing. She watched the girl crouch down, gather stuff, examine each find, throw some back and drop some in her beach bag. The young girl walked closer.
Lizzie’s heart clenched. It was herself, her nine-year-old self. Yes, yes. There she was. The blue bathing suit with the white stripes, the red baseball cap, the sad look in her eyes as she raised her hand and waved a shy hello.
A tidal wave of love and compassion swelled in Lizzie’s heart, almost breaking it. She opened her arms wide and ran towards her younger self, enfolding her and whispering in her ear with a tenderness that made her voice shake.
“Lizzie, it’s me. I’m you when you are nineteen. It’s O.K.” She rubbed the young Lizzie’s back with soft caresses. “It’s going to be O.K.” Young Lizzie sniffed back tears.
“See what you are going to become? I’m painting. I know I’m, we’re, really good. This is how you will feel at nineteen and you will be proud of who you are inside and out, I promise.”
“But I don’t feel that way right now,” young Lizzie whispered through tears.
“Oh Lizzie. How I remember those feelings.” She touched Lizzie’s legs. “Dad calling our legs toothpicks in front of people. The teasing all the time that hurt so much. How he squelched our ideas. Fears that maybe drawing all the time was strange. But Lizzie, despite all that Dad loves us. He really does. He can’t help how he is.”
Young Lizzie managed a smile. “You are beautiful and nice,” she said. She hugged older Lizzie for a long time, then began to fade away down the beach leaving footprints in the sand.
“Please remember this moment, Lizzie,” older Lizzie called out. “If only you could. Aches would melt in your heart. You would begin to love yourself so much earlier. You wouldn’t have to wait.”
Older Lizzie sat on the driftwood log, shaken by the vision of her nine-year-old self in pain. Her tears felt hot. She took out her invitation to exhibit her artwork. She read it again. She was still happy. But mostly grateful.
Happy Writing all you writers out there!
LINKING THE ARTS
The Outermost House by Henry Beston
A Writing Blog to Inspire You
Hi Writers,
I’m here to root for Writing Conferences. I love them. It’s like sneaking into the inner sanctum of the publishing world. Sometimes a passing remark from a literary agent, an editor, a writer at the buffet table can cause you to rethink your approach to the beginning of your story, the phrasing of your query letter, the tone of your dialogue. It’s a place to brush elbows with your literary colleagues and get into intense conversations about your mutual passions.
Last month I attended the annual Unicorn Writer’s Conference in Portland, Connecticut. (for information http://www.unicornforwriters.com) It’s a treasure of a conference. Wonderfully organized. (confession: the treats, beautiful notebooks, datebooks, bookmarks with unicorn images, were a highlight.)
Here’s some random tidbits I picked up at the craft workshops and agent and editor panels. I filled a notebook.
If you’re looking: Really research the right agent or editor for you. They all have websites. Some like to mentor. Others don’t. All of them represent specific genres and get a little touchy when they receive submissions outside of their interest. Touchy like not reading past the first sentence—if that.
Query newer agents. They are building their lists.
Conference presenters put attendees submissions on top of their slush pile. Put name of conference in subject line.
A query is like a movie trailer. The first scene must be the establishing shot.
No info dumping dialogue.
Introduce possibilities in your first line. Create a fast way in.
I wouldn’t have guessed that my favorite craft workshop would be “What Can Writers Learn from Linguists?” I will now pay great attention to my characters’ syntax, order of their words, be aware of how the subtle meanings of words change over time. Choose words for your characters that are appropriate for their age or for a trait you wish to portray. A linguistic note that is off can take away the power of your words.
Happy Writing Everyone and here’s to your linguistic success!
And thank you Unicorn Writing Conference.
The Lady and the Unicorn Tapestry
Hotel de Cluny Paris France
