Literary Genres Archives - Writing Like a Dancer

WRITERS AND TECHNOLOGY

Posted on July 5, 2019 by writ7707 Posted in Literary Genres, The Writing Life, Writing 1 Comment

WRITERS AND TECHNOLOGY

Hi Writers,

I love my computer. It’s a beautiful little MacBook. It welcomes my writerly thoughts and stories and remembers them. It helps me edit my writing. It organizes my illustrations. How wonderful is that? I open the cover and a picture of a café in Paris appears. I could be sitting there, writing. My computer is my friend.

But not always. Sometimes it acts up and hides the cursor, pops on to an unrelated topic of its own accord or loses drafts for no reason, never to be found again. These are heart-sinking moments.

Here’s my flash fiction story about such times.

The mom was sitting in front of her computer, a vase of yellow daisies just touching the edge of the screen. Her head was down.

She heard her ten-year-old son come into her study and quickly dabbed at her eyes and lifted her head.

“Wait,” he said. “What? Mom are you crying?”

“Of course not!”

“You are,” he said. “You’re crying.”

She turned toward him and saw a look in his eyes—so wise beyond his years.

In the kindest, gentlest tone ever and without making her feel bad, he said, “I can help you with that, Mom.” He retrieved the lost document—bing, bing, bing.

Her heart filled. When did it happen that her son took care of her? So loving. So kind.

Her eyes misted over again. This time for a lovely reason.

Happy writing everyone and may all your computers behave.

WRITING AN ANECDOTE

Posted on July 23, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Anecdote, Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing Muse 1 Comment

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 FROM A DETAIL

Posted on March 15, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing from a detail, Writing Inspiration, Writing Your Highlights Leave a comment

A Writing Blog About Playing Around with a Story Line in Different Literary Genres and Different Literary Techniques

Writing Leap #37

Hi Writers, O.K. You’ve created a list of highlights from an observation of yours. Or an event, movie or meeting you’ve attended. (www.writinglikeadancer.com/writingyourhighlights)

Is there one small detail from your list that intrigues you? Grab it! And create a story around it.

A detail can trigger your storytelling imagination and send you plots, characters and situations you had never thought of. This is great writing practice for putting a detail you have observed in one context into another context.

So what about the stranger’s large bow tie at the banquet table? What about the odd picture on your colleague’s desk? What about the sweet kiss a child plants on a flower in the park? Go!

Here’s mine inspired by the shower head in my hotel room.

The Storyline is: What I Noticed

This was fun. She was home. The back seat of Tommy’s old VW Beetle was packed high with stuffed duffles, laptops, Tommy’s sax, three pairs of ski boots. She laughed and laughed with her two best friends up front, Dan and Tommy. It was great to be driving back up north to college after winter break. Dan was turned sideways in his seat so he could talk to her.

The roads were slick with ice, but Tommy was a great driver, very cautious, and she knew she was safe driving with him.

The nightmare happened in a breath. A huge monster truck heading south careened over the snowy highway divider. The impact sent the Beetle spinning. A wail came out of her stomach up through her throat and out her mouth. It seemed distant. She managed to open the car door and fall out.

Sirens, an ambulance with the back doors open, clusters of police huddling around Tommy’s Beetle. She stumbled to the edge of a gathering crowd, grabbing on to a bush, trying to focus her eyes. Blurry, whirling red lights bombarded her from the tops of the police cars. Men in white pants carried a stretcher to the ambulance. She made out Tommy’s dirty sneakers sticking out from a sheet that covered his body and face. She felt herself floating. There was Dan on a stretcher too, touching his eye that was gushing blood.

Her head throbbed. Pounding against her eyes. She found herself wandering further away from the crowd. She clutched her throat, leaned over and threw up. She kept walking. A big hotel with lots of softly lit windows loomed ahead. She walked into the lobby, pulled out the credit card that was, thank god, in her pocket and booked a room.

“Mom, Dad.” She telephoned her parents and choked out what had happened. “I’m O.K. I promise.” Why did she say that? She wasn’t O.K.

“Lie down, darling, lie down,” her mother sobbed.

“We’ll drive up there as fast as we can, pumpkin. An hour and a half tops. We’ll be right there,” her father said.

The room tilted up and down. During the first five minutes in the warm shower she just shivered and clung to the towel bar. The shower head was huge, maybe ten inches square and she stuck her face right into it. As the warm water cascaded on her head it seemed to her she was in the middle of a light-filled waterfall spilling down all over her, slowly diminishing the throbbing pain. She took slow breaths. She turned her back into the deep permeating heat of her waterfall and turned again to let the caresses splash over her, drenching her hair, seeping into her eyes. Time disappeared. Why wasn’t she sobbing? Some dim voice in her brain said, “This is what shock is.”

When her parents let themselves into the hotel room she barely heard them. Her waterfall splashed on and on and she was rooted there. She didn’t want to leave her soothing friend.

Dressed and now sobbing, she said to her parents, “I want to go to the local police. They need to ask me questions about Tommy and Dan.”

“First we take you to the emergency room to be checked out,” her father said. Her mother couldn’t let go of her.

Happy Writing Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

A Favorite Quote: “To see is to forget the name of the thing one sees.” Paul Valéry

The Girl’s Shower Image

WRITING YOUR HIGHLIGHTS

Posted on February 26, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing Your Highlights Leave a comment

A Writing Blog About Playing Around with a Story Line in Different Literary Genres and Categories

Writing Leap #36

Hi Writers,

Close your eyes and think of an event in your life. A visit with a friend, an outing, a dream or a daydream. If you focus on your highlights of the event, the moments that rush at you to be remembered, you may discover small gems that will inspire your writing. A feeling, a detail, a setting, a snippet of dialogue can all show up, transformed or not, in your writing projects.

So writers, if you like, list your highlights and let them set off some creative ideas.

The Story Line is: Moments that Stick

My highlights are from an SCBWI writing conference I attended this past weekend in New York. SCBWI is short for The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, the international professional organization for writers and illustrators of children’s literature. I’m listing five highlights but I could have listed twenty-five.

1. Big Highlight. Co-founder of SCBWI Lin Oliver’s warmth. What is it about Lin’s heartfelt persona that creates an atmosphere where 1000 writers and illustrators can each feel encouraged, delighted and so happy to be sitting where they are? In a ballroom laughing (she’s very humorous) feeling grateful for her passion for our craft. Inside the cocoon of her savvy know-how I floated happily from author to illustrator, sharing writerly thoughts and experiences with my “writing tribe” as Lin calls us.

2. Little Highlight. The big nine inch square shower head in the hotel. Lovely, long delicious waterfall showers where I first imagined this blog post.

3. Big Highlight. Writer and speaker Kate Messner’s keynote. Oh the writer’s angst. “I’m not good enough. Everybody else is getting it right. Too many manuscript rejections. Failure.” No, No, she said. Showing up to write is an act of courage. “Fail fast” and dance on. Savor that private moment to celebrate finishing a sentence, a paragraph. I found myself wiping tears off my cheeks. Don’t be so emotional Cynthia. But to the left of me, the right of me, in front and behind me many creative souls were wiping tears too. Kate Messner touched a deep chord.

4. A Little Highlight but memorable. Mashed potatoes served in a martini glass. Who could resist that? Lots of toppings; gravy, bacon bits, cheese, something green. Like a mashed potato candy store. Would it be piggy of me to go back for seconds to try more toppings?

5. Near Disaster. Little Highlight but really Big. “Uuum, uh,” a fellow writer glanced at my dinner plate from the buffet. She looked at my decent sized scoop of brown rice next to my sliced turkey. “Do you realize that is hot, spicy mustard?” I saw myself sinking to the hotel lobby floor gasping for my life.

Happy Writing Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

Books

Another Highlight: The SCBWI Bookstore, tables piled high with books from members and presenters. Exciting browsing time. Scanning titles, flipping pages. Buying way too many books.

Little Poems for Tiny Ears by Lin Oliver and illustrated by the treasure Tomie de Paolo

Words with Wings

by Nikki Grimes

A daydreaming child destined to be a writer. In verse.

A Great Word

Belonging: As in feeling connected to those with the same passion.

An Illustration that, to me, evokes belonging.

Dusan Kallay, Slovak Children’s Books, Bratislava, 2008

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY

Posted on February 14, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing what you mean 1 Comment

A Writing Blog to Explore Different Literary Genres and Literary Moods

Hi Writers and Readers,

May your love and passion for someone and for your writing self be so soul-shaking as to travel with you in downward dips and soar with you in upward swoops

Go ahead. Let cupid pierce your heart

And write about it

William Shakespeare

Love to all you Writers,

Happy Valentine’s Day my Garrett. Bacon first, then later French Champagne and Chocolate Eclairs

WRITING THE FAIRY TALE

Posted on February 3, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in First Lines, Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing the Fairy Tale 3 Comments

A Writing Blog About Playing Around With Different Literary Genres and Categories

Writing Leap #35

Hi Writers, Hi Readers,

Remember Fairy Tales?

Ethereal castles that glitter with enchantment, huts that house evil, deep forests where magic happens. The fairy tale takes you by the hand and leads you to far away lands. Into clouds of an imaginary long ago. A lovely, scary place.

Fairy tale princes and princesses, woodsmen and lost children don’t give one thought to their inner lives or memories. They act or are acted upon. Fairy tale people are wonderfully one-dimensional, like paper dolls. They are good or they are bad. (Lending themselves to brilliant interpretations as in Carl Jung’s archetypes.)

“What happens next” happens swiftly in fairy tales. Knights slay dragons and rescue fair maidens, kings go to battle and bestow honors all in the space of a few sentences. The story sweeps along, albeit dreamily, as Philip Pullman describes in his introduction to his new book, Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm.

Which is why retelling or creating your own fairy tale is such good writing practice for smooth quick pacing where every word counts. You can focus solely on moving the story forward and set aside the must-haves of modern fiction–characters that breath, ones you could pinch and descriptive images that go deep.

So Writers! Make some Magic! Tell a story. You’ve already got the beginning of that difficult first line. You know–Once Upon a Time.

Put a new spin on a classic. Or just try to retell the tale in your own voice, as so many have done through time. Make them, “clear as water,” as Philip Pullman says.

I have always wanted to change the ending to Grimm’s, “The Twelve Dancing Princesses,” my favorite fairy tale since always. Here’s my chance.

My short retelling.

Once Upon a Time there was a funny old King with twelve lively daughters. His daughters kept the most glorious secret from him. About their shoes.

Every morning the King found the princesses’ tattered dancing shoes flung at the bottom of each of their twelve beds.

“What is this?” the King roared. “Why do all your shoes have holes in the bottom?”

The twelve princesses twinkled at him but refused to say a word.

He locked them in at night.

Aaah, but as they did each night, the princesses descended a magic staircase in their bedroom into an enchanted forest. Such laughter. Such happiness. Their beautiful new dancing shoes caressed their feet. Their silk ball gowns rustled by trees whose branches glittered with gold, silver and diamonds. Twelve very handsome princes rowed them across a lake to a castle with lighted candles in every window. And, oh, they danced all night until their shoes were in shreds.

The King couldn’t stand it. At his request many princes from many lands tried to discover the secret of the twelve princesses. None succeeded and the King chopped off their heads.

Meanwhile a young lad met an old woman in the woods by the King’s gardens. He smiled at her and offered her a drink of water.

“You are kind lad,” the old woman said. “Take this cape. It will make you invisible and you will discover the secret the princesses refuse to reveal.”

The lad put on the cloak and followed the princesses down the magic staircase into the enchanted forest. Unseen he danced with them all night, often stepping on the princesses’ toes. He wasn’t a good dancer but so what. What a lark! What beautiful music!

The King was overjoyed to finally know his daughters’ secret. He encouraged the lad to choose one of the princesses for his bride.

“No more dancing now my daughters. Over,” the King announced.

“No, No, No, Papa,” the princesses declared. “We will never stop dancing.”

The Queen frowned at the King and shook her finger at him.

“Hrmphh. That’s what I meant. Keep the staircase open,” the King said.

And now, whenever they choose, all the King’s subjects descend the magic staircase and wear their dancing shoes to shreds in the glittering underground castle by the lake.

The King and Queen came down occasionally. The King had some lovely moves. And the Queen was obsessed with the diamond branches that she snapped off the glistening trees and brought back to the castle.

Oh, yes. They All Lived Happily Ever After

In the classic version of this tale when the princesses were discovered they just stopped dancing.

Forgive me fairy tale purists, but No. Give up dancing? Shouldn’t we all dance our dreams, figuratively or literally? Besides, it’s all in the spirit of stretching our writerly imaginations in mind, heart and feet.

May you and your writing live H.E.A.

LINKING THE ARTS

Kay Nielsen lithograph for “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”

An Author I Love

Neil Gaiman writes modern fairy tales for grown-ups and savvy kids.

A Good Word

From Philip Pullman’s introduction to Fairy Tales and the Brothers Grimm, Penguin Classics 2012

celerity: brisk, swift, rapid. As in the pacing of a traditional fairy tale.

WRITING THE VIGNETTE FURTHER THOUGHTS

Posted on January 16, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Art and Writing, Character Sketch, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing Inspiration, Writing Moment to Moment, Writing Muse, Writing the Vignette, Writing What You See 2 Comments

A WRITING BLOG About Playing Around with a Story Line in Different Literary Genres and Different Literary Categories

Writing Leap #34

Hi Writers,

Are you ever walking or talking or sitting on a train and your mind alights on a writing idea? It hovers there, a sparrow touching down on a telephone line, apt to fly off at any moment. Grab it! (Apologies and gratitude to the wonderful former U.S Poet Laureate Billy Collins whose metaphor this is. I’m so sorry I can’t find the poem for an exact quote.)

But the essence of the poem is a part of my writing self. Write down your impressions and reactions as they are happening. Otherwise as Billy Collins implies the sparrow will probably fly away forever. Gone, swoosh.

Later the spontaneity of the thought will have vanished. Or you will be growling because you can’t remember any of it. Just that it was great.

I carry a small journal and my cell phone to jot down ideas. Later these small jottings can turn into vignettes. Writing vignettes is great writing practice. Just for the sake of writing them. Writers write and edit. As much as possible.

From The Book of Literary Terms by Lewis Turco. “The vignette is a finely written literary sketch emphasizing character, situation or scene.”

So writers, tackle the vignette!

The story line is: What does chocolate evoke in you? Fiction or Non-fiction.

Here’s mine. A vignette inspired by the painting below and something I jotted down. While eating a chocolate truffle as pictured above. Let’s watch Becca.

Oh, how Becca loved chocolate bars. The extra dark velvet kind. Thick and smooth in her mouth. Just sweet enough.

“Afternoon Becca,”

Becca nodded at the old lady, bundled up in three threadbare coats. Her legs were wrapped in scarves and she was settled on a broken chair outside the door of Mr. Palkowski’s newspaper shop.

Becca pushed open the door to the shop. The loud bell on the door made a jangly, jarring noise . She jerked back. She always did.

“Hi there Becca. What can I do for you today?” Mr. Palkowski said.

“Um, not sure. Just want to look, thank you,” she said.

“Right,” he said, and turned his back to fuss with something behind the counter.

Becca grabbed a small chocolate bar from a box on the shelf opposite the counter and slipped it in her pocket.

“Bye Mr. Palkowski. Nothing today.”

There was no avoiding nodding again at the old lady outside.

“You take care now, Becca,” she said.

Becca started to hurry home.

“Wait,” the old lady called. “Think about this. What are you really hungry for? It’s not chocolate dearie.”

Becca kept walking. That lady was crazy.

Mr. Palkowski stepped outside his store. He watched Becca turn the corner.

“Well Minna. That’s about the tenth time now. I haven’t got the heart to say something to her, poor child.”

“You want my opinion?” Minna said. “You are doing her no favors letting her get away with stealing. No favors at all.”

“Hmmmmm,” he said and went back inside.

When Becca reached her stoop she peeled the paper off the chocolate bar and ate the whole thing. She made sure to put the wrappings in the trashcan in front of her building. She wasn’t going to add to the garbage on the sidewalk.

Becca really did know what she was hungry for. She was hungry for her mama’s chocolate cookies. Her mama used to make them for her a lot. Mama didn’t make them now. If she did, Becca thought, the cookie dough would be full of Mama’s tears.

Next afternoon after school Becca pushed open the door to the news shop. Jangle, jangle. Her heart began to flutter in her chest.

“Afternoon Becca,” Mr. Palkowski said. “Ummmm, now look here. I’ve been thinking. I could use a little help around here, straightening up the stock and such. Would your mother let you do that for about an hour after school? I could pay you a little or you could take it out in merchandise. Like chocolate bars.”

Becca stared. He knew. He knew and he was still being nice to her. She fought back tears and let herself hug him.

Here’s to vignettes and your jottings!

LINKING THE ARTS

A Painting

Homeless

My inspiration for Minna

A Poem

“Lines Lost Among Trees,” in Billy Collins collection, Picnic, Lightning

A Good Word

Jot As in to write quickly in the moment

RE-IMAGINING THE CLASSICS IN LITERATURE

Posted on December 5, 2013 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, Literary Genres, Reinventing the Classics in Literature, The Writing Life, Writing, Writing and Re-imagining the Classics, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse 1 Comment

A WRITING BLOG About Playing Around with a Story Line in Different Literary Genres and Categories

Writing Leap #33

Hi Writers and Readers,

Listen to this!

“I’m Prince Hamlet, got a problem with that?

I’m Prince Hamlet, got a problem with that?

I’m Prince Hamlet, over here.”

A Shakespeare rap? Yes! From the unique and wonderful imagination of my contributing writer, playwright, documentary film maker, rhymer since childhood and teacher Bob Zaslow, known to his students as Mr. Z.

Mr. Z has reinterpreted five of Shakespeare’s plays set to the beats of rap music in his book, Shakespeare’s Greatest Hits. Lucky students, who may otherwise be allergic to Elizabethan English, can relate to these Shakespearean tales and see themselves as a conflicted Hamlet or a star-crossed Romeo or Juliet.

RAPPIN’ ROMEO AND JULIET by Bob Zaslow

CHORUS

Two star-crossed lovers, remember that, now

The stars said they’re not gonna make it no how

Two star-crossed lovers, Juliet and Romeo

Break their families’ feud? Not on their life, oh no!

NURSE

Two households, in the one percent and above

In Verona they fought and fought and never loved

They’d been feuding for ages, for what, none remembers

But their grudge smoked two lovers into burning embers.

A plague on both your houses, a pox on all the men

Who’d rather be right and fight and fight

Than shake hands and shout “Never again!”

A plague on both your houses, Capulet and Montague

Two lovers paid the highest price

Because of the two of you.

Who am I? you ask, I’m the comic relief

I’m the nurse, no one’s worse at being relatively brief.

I’ll never say one word when three will do

I’m the nurse, and I curse, so watch out for that too.

CHORUS

Two star-crossed lovers, Juliet and Romeo

Break their families’ feud? Not on their life, oh no!

NURSE

It all started when Romeo said, “Please me mine!”

To a Capulet girl named Rosaline.

But she said, I’m sorry, you’re just not my type

But give me your number maybe we’ll Skype.

Then Romeo sighed and cried and whined

And his friend Mercutio whacked his behind

“Come to the Capulet ball tonight

Maybe you’ll find someone else who’s just right.”

ROMEO

There’s no one for me, but Rosaline.

NURSE

Then he saw Juliet and the guy lost his mind.

CHORUS

Two star-crossed lovers, Juliet and Romeo

Break their families’ feud? Not on their life, oh no!

Don’t miss the rest of Romeo and Juliet and the very funny last line. Click below for the full version.

http://writinglikeadancer.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Rap-Notes-lyrics-Romeo-Juliet.doc

And for more information:

Rap-Notes:Shakespeare’s Greatest Hits

CD Baby

Barnes and Noble

Mp3 of Rappers Performance of Macbeth

So Writers. Are you inspired? What is your favorite classic? Moby Dick? Imagine more about the whale. Tale of Two Cities? Change the personality of Sidney Carton. This is great writing practice for exploring the “What If?” question. Stay in the world of the book and take it down another road as many writers have done.

Think of those classics you read in school and let yourself go.

Happy Re-Imaginings Writers!

WRITING HISTORICAL FICTION

Posted on November 16, 2013 by writ7707 Posted in Fiction Based on Fact, Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, Writing, Writing Historical Fiction, Writing Inspiration, Writing Moment to Moment, Writing Muse, Writing what you mean 4 Comments

A WRITING BLOG About Playing Around with a Story Line in Different Literary Genres and Categories

Writing Leap #32

WRITING HISTORICAL FICTION

Hi Writers,

Historical Fiction is a blend of historical facts and your imagination. It takes place in a definite period of time and place in history. Your characters are involved in a conflict or situation that is real for that time period.

The serious challenge for us writers is to eschew historical cliché. We have to do our research and then plunge ourselves back there. You don’t have to spell out the historical facts but they should be hovering underneath your fiction.

So writers. Do you have a time or moment or place in history that feels curiously familiar? Or that you are curious about? Take yourself back there and write.

Background on my fiction piece: The First Thanksgiving

Juicy, fragrant turkey with the stuffing you’ve loved since a child. Tart cranberry sauce and candied sweet potatoes. Yuuum. Creamy pumpkin pie with the flavors of autumn. Cinnamon, nutmeg, a pinch of ginger and maybe allspice. Thanksgiving.

But not anything like the food served at the harvest gathering in the Plymouth Colony in Massachusetts in 1621. Based on two slim accounts, 32 colonists and 90 Wampanaug feasted together on duck, geese, venison, maybe pumpkin and squash. Nobody knows if the Wampanaug were even invited or just showed up. With five deer. But they were welcomed. Chief Massasoit had signed a peace treaty with the Pilgrims.

Over the last 392 years since that gathering in Plymouth the romance of Thanksgiving has blossomed in our country’s fanciful mind. It is a uniquely American way of saying grace. Here’s my imagining of the first gathering.

The First Thanksgiving

He would eat standing up. To sit next to an ash-skinned man at a crowded table, maybe have to touch arms, would kill him.

He was fourteen.

He was a ferocious warrior.

And he would stand.

As far away from those moon-colored faces showing all their teeth as he could.

Which wasn’t far. He felt his father’s eyes flashing fire at him,

But even if his father suspected his thoughts he would never see them on his son’s face. The muscles around the young warrior’s eyes and mouth were as still as stone.

His weapon hung loosely at his side begging him to grab it.

Lots of gunfire this morning from this white settlement. Surely an attempt for a full out attack on his whole tribe. His blood raged. He would devour them. Chop them up like whale meat. He was well aware of how easy that would be for him.

She brought him a platter of paleface overcooked venison and stupid-looking cranberries. She was his age, he thought, but mush. Not hard and magnificent like his mother and his sisters.

“Seconds?” she asked. Washed out blue eyes. Worst of all she had yellow straw for hair. A freak.

He just stared.

He pinched her breast through her starched apron. Hard.

Her mouth flew open and her eyes rolled back and she collapsed to the ground. In a dead faint.

He didn’t have to look at his father to see the gesture of fury directed at him. It said, “Leave. NOW.”

Happy Writing Everyone and Happy Thanksgiving!

LINKING THE ARTS

An Evocative Engraving

The Pilgrims Receiving Massasoit

Charles Henry Granger, 19th century

Maybe my fuming young warrior is in this crowd?

A Word I Like: Grace. In the sense of generosity of spirit. Like the young warrior’s father who surely must have harbored some fury against the pilgrims who stole their corn and worse, yet rose above it.

I Like this Book.

Thanksgiving by Sam Sifton, National Editor and former restaurant critic for The New York Times. He is very funny. His book is full of tips and comments both culinary and amusing.

WRITING ABOUT SPIRITUALITY

Posted on October 16, 2013 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, Writing about Spirituality, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse 2 Comments

A WRITING BLOG About Playing Around with a Story Line in Different Literary Genres and Categories

Writing Leap #30

Writing About Spirituality

Hi Writers and Readers,

Any definition of spirituality is exquisitely personal. The feeling of opening up to something beyond the known.

Writers express the search, the contemplation and the feeling of the infinite through stories. Sometimes commonplace stories about love, the natural world, (do you know Mary Oliver’s poetry?) connection, religious beliefs, the creative spirit. Stories about every aspect of being. Cooking, playing football, singing, dancing, resting.

Some might say that laughter, for example, is sacred.

“At the height of laughter the world is thrown into a kaleidoscope of possibilities,” writer and mystic Jean Houston said.

So pick a topic writers! You have the whole universe to choose from. And beyond.

The Story Line again is

Heaven

Maybe your Heaven is riding on a shooting star. Or savoring a warm piece of apple crisp. With vanilla ice-cream.

Here’s mine.

Everything is Magical after Midnight

Maggie and her mom walked along the moonlit beach towards the crackling flames of a small bonfire. Night shadows on the sand dunes cuddled them in together.

Out and about at MIDNIGHT! Maggie felt thrills rippling inside her. She was nine. And old enough, she thought, to be out so late. Gusts of wind that carried salty seaweed smells kept her wide awake. She zipped up her hoodie.

Her mother slipped her arm around Maggie’s shoulder.

“This moon. It dazzles me,” her mother said.

“And the waves crashing. They have a forever sound,” Maggie said.

“Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of enchanted sea creatures dancing around in the waves,” her mother whispered.

Maggie didn’t know what to expect. Lately she thought her mom was angry with her. Or sad.

“I’m so glad we’re here Mommy,” Maggie said.

“Me too, darling,” her mother said.

It was a Grandmother/Mother/Daughter Full Moon Ritual. Maggie’s first.

Women and children gathered by the bonfire with baskets of food and blankets. Maggie’s mother pulled a golden lovebird necklace out of her beach bag. She handled it gently and laid it on a stone by the fire.

“Grammy Apple’s necklace,” Maggie said. “She’s here, isn’t she Mommy? I mean not really because she’s in Heaven.”

Her mother brushed Maggie’s hair back. “Yes, she’s here.”

A plump woman Maggie knew as Ariana stood up. Her skirt flowed to her ankles. She held a candle and the light flickered on her rosy cheeks.

“Welcome. Welcome.” Ariana smiled at the women and girls seated around the fire in a circle.

“You are all very beautiful in the moonlight.” Small candles in the sand flickered light on everyone’s face.

“This is the Harvest Moon and the closest of all the full moons to the earth,” Ariana said. “We are especially connected to our maternal ancestors this night.”

She stretched her arms up high and looked at the huge butter moon.

“May the strong energy from the Harvest Moon help us to feel very close to our grandmothers, mothers, daughters and granddaughters tonight,” she said.

Maggie snuggled closer to her mother.

“Would the grown-ups please each take a lighted candle and then be seated?” Ariana said. “We all have a wish or a dream to give to our daughters. As we go around the circle each mother will give her daughter her thought and then pass the candle on to her. Grandmothers get two candles. Sarah, as a great-grandmother, you get three.”

Maggie barely heard the others while she was waiting for her mother’s turn.

Here it was. Everyone was quiet. A log flared up high and hot. Maggie pulled the hood on her sweatshirt off her head and looked into her mother’s eyes–brown with amber glints. Just like hers.

“With this candle my sweet Maggie, I want to give you two gifts.” Maggie heard her mother’s voice catch.

“I want to give you the gift of yourself. You are deeply loved for who you are and for the artist inside you. You are beautiful.”

Maggie felt her heart burst and tears come to her eyes. Her mother had never said that to her before. Not quite like that.

“And here’s my second gift. Not until this moment and because of you I now see that my own mother, your Grammy Apple, was trying for so long to give me the gift I have just given you. To be proud and happy with myself. Thank you my very special girl.”

She handed Maggie the candle and Maggie put her head on her mother’s shoulder. She felt as if everyone in the circle and beyond were hugging her.

Happy Writing Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

A Good Word

Wonder. As in the jostling of our awareness. It’s one of my favorite words and one of my favorite places to be. In a state of wonder.

A Favorite Book

by L. Frank Baum

Dorothy’s spiritual adventure

Evocative Photo