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WRITERS AND ACTUALLY WRITING

Posted on June 15, 2020 by writ7707 Posted in The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing, writing about empathy, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse 6 Comments

WRITERS AND ACTUALLY WRITING

June 15, 2020

Hi Writers,

I hope you are all staying safe and are well. The despair is deep all around us. I wonder what you might be writing (or not writing.)

I’ve been reading so many creative and sound tips on how to keep on writing, watched lots of great writing webinars, while living mostly in a cocoon. But when I attempt to pull out my writing notebook and favorite pen, I get sleepy.

Emily Hanlon is a wonderful writing teacher I’ve known for a long time. www.emily@emilyhanlon.com

She once suggested gazing deeply into the middle of a flower. Notice the layers of petals, the center that connects them, the colors, the fragrance, any wilting. Notice how it makes you feel.

Then write.

I sat on my garden bench and gazed into this peony for several minutes. Like the petals I began to feel the many layers of myself. It was lovely.

But it didn’t inspire a story. And you know what? I’ve accepted that it’s okay. I have all these big wafts of time and I’m not writing much. And it’s okay.

For me, my days are nevertheless very creative. They are flowing more deeply and at a slower pace. We are surrounded by woods and I spend many hours outside gazing at the tulip trees intertwined with the elms, maples and beech trees swaying in the wind and scraping the sky. The robins and bright bluebirds swoop and flutter. A huge mama turtle inched across the little hill behind our house. I caught a glimpse of the arrogant bushy-tailed red fox trotting at a fast pace not thirty feet from me. It was a gift. He owns the grassy paths too, of course!

I spend hours and hours reading one book after another—literary fiction, children’s classics. They have expanded my humanity. I can feel it. My dear husband Garrett and I have a great marriage-saver. He watches TV news with earphones and I read. Both happy and together.

For those of you who are absorbed in your writing, may your writing muse continue to touch you deeply. For those of us who are not writing at the moment, we are still always writers. Maybe our imaginations are just in the unconscious collecting mode!

Love, Cynthia

Public marketing for my middle-grade book, “Witchy Magic and Me, Maggie,”

www.witchymagicandmemaggie.com is more or less on hold. But I have high hopes for Maggie down the road!

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.

WRITING ABOUT EMPATHY

Posted on October 30, 2016 by writ7707 Posted in Anecdote, writing about empathy 1 Comment

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your Muse

Writing Leap #71

Hi Writers,

Does your character have empathy? Does he or she have to learn, maybe the hard way, what it feels like to walk in another person’s shoes? Or is your character a naturally sensitive soul? Showing empathy or the lack thereof is one way to portray your character’s deepest self.

Here’s my story where a group of children are shocked into understanding what it feels like to be different.

Trick or Treat

The wind was fluttering the red leaves on the big red maple tree in front of mean old Mr. Mooney’s house. Whoosh! The setting sun cast creepy shadows along the walk to his porch. It was Halloween and the shadows were extra creepy, like long arms that could reach out and GRAB YOU!

“Shall we risk it?” asked a small boy in a big Batman cape. “My mom says he’s a witch, only he’s a man.”

“I say let’s do it,” said a pint-sized astronaut, safe behind his helmet.

“You know he has the best candy on the street,” added the cowboy, fingering his toy gun.

They marched up to the porch.

“Can I come too?” said a small girl in a Hillary Clinton mask and a sweatshirt that said, “Girls Rule.” Oh, how she wished her voice didn’t sound so shaky. But she was Hillary Clinton and she was going to ask, even though these boys just today had called her “freak” again.

“No way,” hissed Batman.

“We don’t want you around, freak. Who has one big ear and one little ear?” said the cowboy.

“Yeah, so weird,” said the astronaut.

The front door opened. Mr. Moody! “Come on up here, Miss Hillary Clinton. No, no, you boys just wait out here on the porch.”

“Well, well, Miss Hillary. Shall we give those boys the what-for?” He mumbled a few words and opened the door.

“One of my ears just grew bigger than the other!” said the astronaut.

The cowboy’s hands flew up to his ears. “Mine too!”

“And mine!” said Batman.

“So, you three.” Mr. Moody shot a terrifying look at the boys who were clutching their ears, mouths open. “Your ears are going to stay like that for five days. After that, I just think you might have something to say to Miss Hillary here.”

The boys suffered terrible taunts about one big ear and one little ear. Their friends wouldn’t sit with them at lunch and held their noses when any one of them passed by. Even the teachers snickered about them behind their backs.

Five days passed and the boy’s ears went back to being the same size. “We’re sorry,” they said to the little girl. “It sucks to be different. But we’re your friends now, for always. We want you to be brave.”

The little girl smiled at them and patted her “Girls Rule” sweatshirt. She was never taking it off. She and magical Mr. Moody were now best friends forever.

***

Happy, Spooky Halloween, Writers,

LINKING THE ARTS

Word: The little girl with one ear much bigger than the other wishes in her own way that another word for empathy could be spontaneous kindness, the great equalizer.