Writing from a detail Archives - Writing Like a Dancer

WRITERS AND MEMORY BEAMS

Posted on September 21, 2016 by writ7707 Posted in Anecdote, Personal Writing, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing about Young Children, Writing Emotional Moments, Writing from a detail, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse Leave a comment

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your Muse

Writing Leap #70

Hi Writers,

You know how the flash of a memory can suddenly bloom in your heart, full of feeling and clear visual details? These beams from the past can illuminate rich, loamy soil for story-growing. Another source of inspiration!

For me, the moment comes unbidded, unlike moments I may search to remember. That’s the beauty of a memory beam. It’s our muse whispering in our ears from deep down. I’ve found the moment usually carries a lot of emotion. I’m there. I feel it in my pulse.

I’ve even wondered if these memory flashes appear to writers for a reason. To push us to write? To understand? Or for me, this time, to relive a loving closeness between me and my then six-year-old son, G.J., thirty-three years later.

G.J. and Mama in Vermont. As it Really Happened and Brought Back by a Memory Beam

The long farm table in the small country dining room was set at one end for just four people; G.J., me and the husband and wife proprietors of a small inn near Sugarbush, Vermont. We were the only guests, there to ski.

Was that LASAGNA I smelled coming from the kitchen?! I looked at the wife as she brought in the warm fragrant dish and set it down in front of G.J. “Your Mom told me this was your favorite, favorite thing to eat. I made it special for you.”

I looked up at her sweet face. “How kind and wonderful. Thank you,” I said softly. The atmosphere called for softness. G.J.’s big brown eyes grew wide and his smile was sunshine on his adorable face. (I’m allowed this. I’m his mother.)

“Wow,” He said. “That’s a lot of Lasagna! Thanks!”

And later, “She doesn’t even know me and she made me Lasagna.”

After a day of skiing we tromp back into the Inn covered with snow. We had left a copy of “Charlotte’s Web,” a book we are reading together on the night table. The husband says, “I saw your book, G.J. Hope you don’t mind that I read it. One of my favorites from when I was your age.”

This tickles G.J. who was feeling so good about his runs down the mountain. He was a great little skier, advanced for his age, and I was hoping he believed me when I praised him and that he really felt it. Like most children, he had a little shy streak. I looked at him taking off his boots. I felt our special time together.

At some point the doorbell rings at the Inn and the couple greet friends. “Evening Brother John. Evening Sister Mary. Come in!”

Perhaps they were Quakers. I don’t know. But they created an environment where G.J. and I were so happy. I love thinking of them. I cherish the memory of our trip to Vermont, just G.J. and Mama. Thank you, my muse, for bringing it back in such a gush.

So Writers. If you like, create a story around a spontaneous memory. As it happened or as inspiration for your fiction. You never know when a memory beam will light up an idea. Here’s to your very own muse,

LINKING THE ARTS

Books: Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White

Sharing a book with a child is an act of love.

Word: Kindness. As shown by the gentle innkeepers in Vermont. The spontaneous whoosh that flows out golden and can make a child feel much loved.

WRITING THE INCIDENT

Posted on October 29, 2015 by writ7707 Posted in The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing from a detail, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing the Incident Leave a comment

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 AND VERBAL EXPRESSIONS

Posted on August 24, 2015 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing from a detail, Writing great dialogue, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse 2 Comments

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 THE TRAVEL MOMENT

Posted on March 3, 2015 by writ7707 Posted in Anecdote, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Travel Writing, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing from a detail, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing the Vignette, Writing What You See Leave a comment

Writing Practice and the Muse who is ALWAYS THERE

Writing Leap #51

Hi Writers Out There,

We were recently in Paris for three weeks and near where we were staying there is a papeterie, a tiny store that sells newspapers, pens and glorious notebooks of many kinds. You can find all sizes stacked on shelves, some lined, some plain and my favorite, notebooks with graph paper.

I carried three in my bag and tried my dear husband’s patience when I pulled one out at most street corners to capture a moment or a glimpse of something. “You wouldn’t see this, or hear this, or feel quite this way back home!” I would say.

With your writer’s sensibility to “stories” all around you, notebooks for grabbing the freshness of a moment while traveling are essential. Later when you are back home you can fill out your stories from your authentic first impressions and not just from your memory or photo shot.

So Traveling Writers. Lots of pens and lots of notebooks.

Here’s one of my moments, expanded from a few scribbled lines.

I stared at the Louvre across the Seine. It stretched the length of three quais. Hundreds of beautiful tall French windows. Poor Louis XVI and the thousands in attendance to him whose home this was. Beheaded with his wife Marie Antoinette because of all his high-ceilinged rooms gilded pure gold, his walls covered in silk brocade, his powdered wigs, his delicate lace cuffs–all given to him and him alone by God himself.

A woman draped in a dreary shawl picked something up from the sidewalk and approached me.

“Madame, excuse me, but look at this ring,” she said. “It looks like real gold.” She showed me some markings on the inside of the ring. “Sadly, I can’t wear it.” She began to try it on her fingers to show me. Her accent in French was foreign and she mumbled. I wasn’t sure if she said it was too small for her or that it was against her religion to wear it.

“I want you to have it,” she said and held the ring out to me. “You should have it,” she said. I saw kindliness in her face. I looked at her and smiled back. I had an impulse to accept it and actually took it in my hand.

My friend coughed in her glove and threw me a stern look. “No, no,” she said. “Just put it here on this closed up book stall. Come on. Right on top.” I gave the ring back to the woman and she walked away.

Then she turned back and said, “Please, just a few coins. My children are very hungry.”

My friend and I hustled on. “Do you suppose that was a set-up?” I asked. “Rather,” she said.

But I was wondering what the woman’s name might be. Maybe we should have given her something.

A few days later on a boulevard in another Paris neighborhood, a man leaned down and picked up a gold ring off the sidewalk. He offered it to my husband and me.

LINKING THE ARTS

A Good Word for Writers: Wallop, as in “Writer’s Wallop.” Feeling a moment in your gut and getting it down fast before it loosens its hold.

INTERVIEWING YOUR FICTIONAL CHARACTER

Posted on November 22, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in interview, Interviewing Your Fictional Character, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing from a detail, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse 3 Comments

Writing Practice and the Muse Who is ALWAYS THERE

Writing Leap #48

Hi Writers,

Thanksgiving is the official time to verbalize “gratefuls.”

What about asking your fictional characters to tell you their “gratefuls?” They may surprise you! Maybe they think they don’t have any, or maybe they will reveal something about themselves that will show you a deeper side, an unexpected layer of who they are. Your character may show you he’s not always dense, or loving or grouchy or intelligent.

Asking your character questions, listening for his answers or “seeing” a new gesture or facial expression emerge is one way to add revealing dimensions to his behavior. It’s a good way to avoid the dreaded “one dimensional character.”

Go ahead and try asking your characters what they are grateful for. Start with a blank page, put the character’s name on top and ask the question! Give them a chance to show you how richly layered they may be. They might reward you by breathing right off the page.

Here’s mine. I asked my character if she were grateful for anything. She revealed something I never knew about her and I realized I had done her an injustice. She wasn’t just one way. She was another way too.

She had to get rid of this dog. He bites, well nips, her ankles, the delivery man’s ankles, guest’s ankles, everybody’s ankles. He whines every hour on the hour at night. Can he tell time? Here’s the worst. Sometimes he goes poo-poo in her husband’s back office, in front of the bathroom door. Right after a long walk outside.

Here he was now, looking up at her while she sat reading, tissues piling up in the basket next to her. Her nose wouldn’t stop running and her throat was sore and her head was hot. She crossed her legs trying to find a comfortable position. Holding the top leg slightly out in front of her felt good.

The dog lay at her feet. He reached his big paw up to her lifted leg and plopped it there, on her ankle. He was very still. She stared at him for a few moments, then a few more moments. She couldn’t help the smile and she ruffled the dog’s ears. She leaned back and felt the warmth of his paw spread through her, landing, she realized, on her heart. The dog looked her in the eye and didn’t move his paw from her leg. She really would be bereft without him. How could she be in her house without that doggie love following her around?

A Very Happy Thanksgiving Writers with many “gratefuls!” As for me, I am so grateful I am a writer because my eyes are always open wide.

LINKING THE ARTS

A Good Word

Trust, as in trusting that your characters know who they are.

I wonder if Dickens or Tolstoy or Edith Wharton had conversations with their characters?

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