Commentary News Archives - Writing Like a Dancer

WRITING ABOUT TREES

Posted on August 24, 2018 by writ7707 Posted in Anecdote, Personal Writing, Setting as Character, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing about the Environment, Writing about the natural world, Writing about Young Children, Writing Inspiration 2 Comments

Writing Practice and Meeting up with Your Muse

Writing Leap #76

Writing About Trees

Hi Writers,

My writing muse, the dancer Isadora Duncan, continues to twirl softly in my imagination. I’m thrilled by her passion to stay true to her own “Isadora” song, to nurture it, to love it, and then express it in dance.

Isadora now keeps company, however, with more of my muses: everything that lives and grows and coexists outside, sheltered by the sky. I have always been in awe of the natural world and now I seek out trees, flowers, shorelines and woodland paths to inspire me. They speak a non-human language. Sometimes I draw them first before writing.

Do you love farmlands, leopards, hummingbirds? A fleeting feeling of recognition and connection can morph into a page or pages of writing. For a writer there is nothing more soul-satisfying, right?

I sat for a long time in front of a very old scraggly beech tree in the hush of a grassy glen. The scene and the moment were protected by a low stone wall that looked more ancient than the tree. After awhile a little girl popped into my imagination. Here she is.

Annie ran and ran deeper into the woods, letting the tears fall that she had scrunched behind her eyes all morning. It was her ninth birthday and Mama was in the hospital.

She found her tree, so, so tall. She looked up and felt the comfort of the sunlight peeking through its leaves and branches. Her tree must have been here a long, long time, she thought. It was a grandpa tree—bark peeling off, branches that hugged each other, as if they were holding each other up.

A little beetle landed on Annie’s arm ever so gently. She looked into its tiny eyes. “I love you, little beetle.” She couldn’t help herself.

A rustle of the wind brought the beetle’s words to Annie. “I know you are sad,” he seemed to say. “I’m sad sometimes too. But you know what I do?”

“What?” Maggie whispered. She didn’t think it at all strange that the beetle was talking to her. Or that she understood him.

“I climb on the old stone wall over there, clear to the top,” he said. “And I feel better. The wall cradles me in a kind way.” The beetle shifted positions on Annie’s arm and went on. “Then I climb up the stem of that yellow buttercup by your tree and rest in the middle of its petals. I can tell the buttercup loves that I’m there.” He paused. “Then I look around and notice all the different shades of green leaves that I see in this clearing—bright green, yellow-green, dark, dark green almost black, and I feel the leaves, big ones, pointy ones, raggedy ones, all sending me comfort. They like me.” The beetle turned its eyes towards Annie’s face. “And most important of all I beam love back to them.” The beetle showed his wings and started to fly away. “And when I go back to my home under the tree roots I may still have some sadness but I know I’m not alone.”

Annie watched the beetle land on a bent blade of grass. Right next to her worries about Mama, she made room in her heart for the comfort of the grandpa beech tree, the protection of the old stone wall, and the friendliness of the butterflies dancing around the soft-colored wildflowers.

Happy Writing Outdoors Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

Annie’s Grandpa Tree

A sweet book for children and grown-ups

WRITING ABOUT NARCISSISM

Posted on April 1, 2017 by writ7707 Posted in Character Description, Commentary News, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, writing about empathy, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing the Political Mood Leave a comment

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your Muse

Writing Leap #74

WRITING ABOUT NARCISSISM

Hi Writers,

Wikipedia. “Narcissism is the pursuit of gratification from vanity or egotistic admiration of one’s own attributes.”

Most of us have had some acquaintance with narcissistic personalities, either personally or in fiction or in public figures in the news. Narcissism can reach across a broad spectrum from “self-involvement” to serious psychiatric disorders.

This is rich territory for writers. Do the characters in your story get pulled in by your fictional narcissist? Do they fight it? Do they suffer from it? Each response to the narcissist can reveal deep layers in your other characters. Why are they responding this way? How does this affect the plot?

Here’s my narcissist.

Richard spun completely around when he spotted the sleek orange car parked on the cobblestones near the main piazza. He let out a long, low whistle. “Man!” he said. “That’s a brand new Ferrari convertible!” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his Virginia Tech baseball jacket and peered inside. The dashboard, steering wheel, the whole interior gleamed up at him, an awesome, lustrous saddle brown nest for two.

“Can you imagine winding around the narrow coast road in that car,” said Richard’s friend, Maudie? “Yikes.” She pointed to the steep cliffs bordered below by a ribbon of a road that looked down onto an aquamarine ocean. “I bet you’d give anything to drive that car.” Richard ignored her. He seemed mesmerized.

Their student group had just arrived in Ravello, down from Naples in the Gulf of Salerno on the Amalfi coast. It was the last leg of their tour. Maudie played the part of Richard’s buddy since he had informed her straight out, in front of some other students on their tour, that he and Maudie were friends, just friends, nothing romantic. He had given her a glance that said, “My girlfriend? With a jellyroll behind like yours? I don’t think so.”

Maudie was smart. Richard cut her off every time she talked about medieval Italian history or spoke a few words of Italian. He would just budge in and mimic an Italian accent in English. Richard wasn’t learning a word of Italian. He had trouble with languages, a fact he denied to himself. Only idiots bothered to learn a language they would never use, he claimed.

Richard walked around and patted the back of the orange Ferrari where the huge engine lived. A Ferrari was sheer power with a capital “P.” Ferrari’s ruled the road. And guess what. Richard made damn sure he ruled his universe. His gaze was slightly threatening, his bearing straight and unyielding. He WAS the Ferrari, irresistible, he thought, unconquerable.

A young man with a sweater tied around his shoulders in that nonchalant Italian way came into view. Maudie just knew he lived here, was born here. He walked down the narrow sloping street as sure-footed as a graceful mountain goat. Maybe he lived in one of those big white stucco houses in the steep cliffside gardens high above sea level? “So beautiful,” Maudie thought, as her eyes swept across the cliffs bursting with wild purple orchids and big stretches of moss green olive trees dotted with pink blossoms. She had done her botanical research.

“Hey, that’s the son of the owner of our hotel,” said Richard. He showed his palm to Maudie and traced out a dollar sign. “They have big bucks. His father owns lots of hotels.”

“Ciao,” said the young man approaching the car. He put his hand on the door handle.

“Ciao,” said Maudie. Naturally he had big brown eyes and dark curly hair and a smile full of Italian sunshine. Did her new white jeans make her look too fat? Yes, of course they did. Everything made her look fat. Because she was fat. Not huge fat, but clearly chubby. Richard had actually said in front of the whole group at dinner last night that she should lay off the pasta, ha-ha, and once again her face had flushed humiliation red.

“Uh, ciao,” said Richard. “Really cool car.”

“No Inglese,” the young man laughed, but reached out to shake hands with Richard and Maudie. “Beppe.” He pointed to himself.

“I’m Richard. We’re staying at your hotel.” Beppe concentrated. “Ah, l’albergo di mio papà.”

Maudie nodded and stuck out her hand. “Maudie.”

Beppe swept his arm out to offer a ride in the Ferrari. He put up one finger to show there was only room for one passenger.

Even though Maudie had made an effort to appear carefree and continental and had put a flower in her hair, she made no attempt to get in the car before Richard. “Beppe is dynamite-looking,” she thought. “He would never want to take me anyway.”

Richard pushed her slightly and slid into the low, curved passenger seat. It wrapped his body in utter comfort. He ran his hand across the leather on the side of his seat. Soft as butter. He tapped Beppe on the shoulder. This will be so funny, Richard thought. He pointed to Maudie and acted out being sick to one’s stomach. He pretended to throw up all over the perfect leather steering wheel. He pointed to Maudie’s stomach and shook his head, “No, no.” Beppe shrugged his shoulders, smiled at Maudie in an embarrassed way, and pushed the red thumb start button on the wheel.

What a steering wheel, full of controls and the Ferrari insignia, a yellow and black prancing horse. “Cool, so cool.” Richard said. They buckled up and took off, a lightning bolt skirting around the busy piazza. Maudie heard the initial roar of the incredible motor settle into a low hum of contentment. Richard waved at Maudie without turning around. She heard him shout, “Sorry Maudie!” I bet she wishes she were me, he thought. Within ten seconds he had completely forgotten about her.

***

Richard is a real narcissistic jerk, right? He wants to ride in the Ferrari and he WILL ride in the Ferrari. Why? Because this is what he wants, that’s all. He humiliates Maudie just because he can. Empathy is not an option for him. Her feelings? He has no idea about them. Besides, Maudie’s intelligence may show him up at any given time.

Narcissistic characters in your stories can sneak into the lives of your other characters and cause chaos, puffer fish that poison unsuspecting diners. We dislike characters so blatantly self-absorbed and cruel. However, authentic antagonists deepen our story. We just have to watch out that our narcissistic character doesn’t become one-dimensional, an unbelievable caricature. So maybe Richard could rescue a wounded alley cat, bring him to an animal shelter and not tell anybody about it? Then we ask, does he do it to feel magnanimous or does he just do it?

Go ahead writers! Create your narcissist. He or she will open up a treasure chest of possible reactions from your other characters. Maybe Maudie goes back to the hotel and organizes a group of her fellow students to shun Richard? Or maybe a friend helps her to really understand that her humiliation in the piazza was Richard’s problem and not hers? Let’s have Maudie get her ride in that sensational orange Ferrari. Let’s have her laugh with her friends and fall in love with Italy.

***

Doing the research for a piece of writing is for me one of the best parts of the whole process. Thank you to my sister, Laurie, an enthusiastic connoisseur of Italy, for giving me a picture of the geography of the area. Thank you to my son, G.J., a passionate car person if there ever was one, for deepening my appreciation for the incredible Ferrari. Our “research trip” together to a Ferrari automobile showroom to see the actual car, chit-chat with a salesman in love with these cars and get caught up in the Ferrari mystique was more than fun.

And finally, I have been floating around in a semi-haze of writer’s block for three months. The current political news, and my writer’s obligation to respond to it (indirectly), snapped me out of my creative fog. I am so happy to be back. Thank you New York Times. You are definitely not fake news.

Happy Writing Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

Images

Books

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, 1890

Look what happened to poor Dorian Gray, the quintessential narcissist.

WRITERS AND THE ENVIRONMENT

Posted on July 13, 2016 by writ7707 Posted in Anecdote, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing about the Environment, Writing Emotional Moments, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing the Vignette 1 Comment

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your Muse

Writing Leap #68

Hi Writers,

Delve into how your character relates to the natural world and see how you can evoke deeper aspects of his personality. Maybe he’s an obsessive recycler, a passion that comes from his relationship with his mother who refused to recycle anything. Or maybe your character scoffs at the idea of global warming because she’s a very conservative thinker. As with other grand issues like religion, love relationships, power struggles, your character’s take on the environment can reveal much about how he maneuvers through your story.

Here’s mine.

Gilly was happy to be an assistant counselor at Junior Environmentalists Camp for a hundred reasons. She loved that the campers and staff picked their way through the woods like she did, breathing in the oxygen offered by the trees, breathing out carbon dioxide to send back to them. She loved using electric lights and computers sparingly. She loved teaching her little campers not to pick the wildflowers. “Enjoy them where they grow! Aren’t they beautiful?” She was part of a huge commitment to revere the environment and the feeling of belonging to this little community assured her that she measured up, that she was on the right side of things and that consequently she was an appealing person.

Gilly also loved Jake, a fellow counselor. They shared the same birthday, July 29, when they both turned fifteen. They gave each other “Surviving in the Wilderness” manuals for presents. They had both read The Legacy of Luna, The Story of a Tree, a Woman and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods.

But Gilly had a shameful secret that burned in her stomach and chest. She was terrified of bugs. She couldn’t help it and she was in constant fear that some one would find out. One day in the woods with Jake and their campers she felt something crawling up her leg. Ugh! Involuntarily she slapped off a large, green, pokey thing, Ugh, and then squished it with her sneaker. She looked down. It squirmed. Then it didn’t. Dead.

“Oh,” she said. She felt her mortification pop out all over her. “I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“That was bad, Gilly,” Jake said backing away from her. “What did that bug ever do to you?”

He turned his back and walked away. The campers followed him. First they looked at Gilly in disbelief, then, Gilly could sense it, with disdain.

She was a fraud. For sure Jake thought so now. She had no business being in this camp. She was shallow compared to every other person here. Gilly flushed red and wished she could melt right into the leafy path and disappear.

End

Note: I could never just leave this story here. I would have Gilly find her gumption and most of all her sense of self-worth some other way and she would triumph inside herself!

Happy summer writing everyone. A perfect time to find your muse outdoors somewhere.

LINKING THE ARTS

Julia Butterfly Hill lived on a platform in a redwood tree for 738 days to protest the clearcutting of a grove of giant redwood trees in California. And then she wrote about it.

THE EDITORIAL COMMENTARY

Posted on June 28, 2012 by writ7707 Posted in Commentary News, Editorial Commentary, Literary Genres, Personal Writing, Writing, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse Leave a comment

To my email subscribers. Click on AN EDITORIAL COMMENTARY above for full post, links—and color.

Playing Around With A Story Line in Different Literary Genres

Writing Leap #5 An Editorial Commentary

Hi Writers,

Did you ever hear or see something on the news that struck you as particularly horrible, funny or sad?

If it’s sad, like the event below, I find that writing about it helps me to think about it.

A commentary is an opinion about an event that reveals the writer’s feelings about the situation. A foray into journalism. Readers may respond to the details as well as the common human experience the piece may portray.

Story Line

Sometimes Love Hesitates (And Sometimes it Doesn’t)

I’m going to play loose with the story line. In this case I’m interpreting the word love as empathy.

***

My Commentary

Matt Lauer of NBC has seen many shocking and distressing film clips. Hardly any have aggrieved him more, he said, than watching a grandmother on a school bus attempt to ignore vicious taunts from twelve-year-olds.

The bullying incident upset a lot of us. I watched the clip and felt sick.

What was she feeling? The cruelties were coming at her like bullets.

“You’re so fat.”

“You’re so fat you don’t fit in the seat.”

“Put your glasses back on. Cover your ugly face.”

Did these boys know that her son had committed suicide when one yelled out, “Your family should kill themselves so they don’t have to be around you.”

She started crying. The boys pulled at her hair and poked her.

In the next couple of weeks the outpouring of compassion for this grandmother overwhelmed her, she said. People responded. Many sent money. An airline offered to send her and nine friends or family members to Disney World.

Perhaps the humanitarian response was more than compassion. Perhaps it was empathy. We are her. Could this woman’s experience have touched raw feelings of our own humiliations at the hands of others? Or moments of shame when we might have said something unkind?

The outpouring of compassion helped her, the woman said. But what did this incident really do to her perception of herself?

****

How about you? Do you write down your reactions/thoughts on news stories that have touched you? Do you send letters to newspaper editors? Or comment online? Go for it! You know you have a lot to say, even if you think you don’t. You have feelings and reactions, right? So you have a lot to say.

Warmly,

LINKING THE ARTS

A Favorite Columnist

Maureen Dowd, Op-Ed Columnist for The New York Times, won a Pulitzer for Editorial Commentary in 1999.

She has a razor pen and a kind heart. She is mistress of the metaphor and plays on words. Maureen Dowd makes me cringe sometimes but she always puts ideas in my head. Plus she makes me laugh.

www.nytimes.com/archives/maureendowd

A Powerful Word

Bully

A person who torments weaker people.

These days we are all more aware of the prevalence and harmful effects of bullying. Many schools have created consciousness-raising classes to educate bullyers and victims alike about the dynamic of bullying. About time.

A Favorite Painting

Willem de Kooning

I think of empathy when I look at this painting. Maybe it’s the warm yellow colors.