writing about children 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 CHILDREN

Posted on August 10, 2016 by writ7707 Posted in Uncategorized Leave a comment

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your Muse

Writing Leap #69

Hi Writers,

WRITING ABOUT CHILDREN

Writing fiction can be a heart-expanding journey. With all characters that we create, we succeed most when we are able to inhabit their internal world. With children we are challenged to hop back into their experience and bring them to life as they really are, not seen through the eyes and pen of our adult selves. Fictional children, to come across as authentic, require that we go right to a most sacred part of ourselves, our empathy, our ability to feel another person deep down. If we can become our fictional child, without looking down on her because she is shorter, that child will come alive in our stories.

So writers. Create a child and have a wonderful time, “scoring that home run with the older kids.”

Here’s mine.

Emma snuggled in between her Grammy and Grandpa. It was a magical time to be out, really late, like 10 o’clock. Nice music floated out of the gazebo in front of them and the summer moon looked pretty in the dark sky.

Emma clutched her doll, Arabella Ann and gave her a quick kiss. She looked over at Daddy’s sad face. Tears flooded Emma’s eyes again and the ache came back. She held Arabella Ann even tighter against her chest. Where was Mommy? Why had she left? She’s been gone since Tuesday. That’s three whole days. Emma let herself sink into Grammy’s arms and felt herself shaking. “Shhhh, my darling,” Grammy whispered. Her voice cracked and Emma heard the pain. “We just don’t know why she went away.”

Emma’s eyes followed a couple dancing on the grass. She got off Grammy’s lap and walked with Arabella Ann over to the gazebo and the music. Clutching her doll close, she began to dance and twirl around and around and around. She stopped twirling. “I’m your Mommy, Arabella Ann, and I will take care of you forever and ever and not leave. Even if you are a bad girl. Well, I’ll be mad if you are bad, but only for twenty minutes and then I will hug and kiss you and make you birthday cakes even when it’s not your birthday.” Emma ran back to Grammy’s lap and held on to her hard. She and Arabella Ann fell asleep.

May your muse be bright,

LINKING THE ARTS

Arabella Ann

Books

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

Harry Potter has grown up. We struggle along with Albus, his youngest son, who hates being a wizard like his famous father. We become Albus, fighting to discover who he is and we feel a personal thrill when he triumphs.

WRITING ABOUT CHILDHOOD HURTS

Posted on February 1, 2016 by writ7707 Posted in Character Description, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing about Childhood Hurts, Writing about Young Children, Writing Emotional Moments, Writing Muse Leave a comment

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your MUSE

Writing Leap #63

Hi Writers,

When young children are diminished, passed by or pushed into the background by adults or other children the result is often a deep feeling of, “Something is wrong with me.” If your young characters experience such hurts it colors all aspects of who they are. Evoke the hurt and your young person will come alive on the page.

Hemingway said, (something like) “Find where the pain is and write about that.” He also said, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” Here’s my story about Mae, a six-year-old who carries around isolating feelings of not measuring up.

The Plaid Dress

A lady with a soft round face and gray curls sat down near the front of the bus on a seat facing the aisle. Settling in, she smiled at a little girl in a plaid dress across from her who was sitting next to her mother. The little girl didn’t smile back. Instead she lowered her eyes. The lady with the soft round face saw right away that the little girl’s misty eyes were blinking back a veiled sadness. The lady sensed that this was not a sudden sadness, but one that lived deep inside this little girl.

“Did you have a nice time in school today, Mae? The mother leaned over and put her arm around her daughter.”

“Yes.”

“It was a very soft ‘Yes.’ Mae jiggled her foot in a nervous repetitive motion.

The lady with the soft round face and gray curls sniffed twice. It was a magical sniff. She was a magical person. She looked at Mae across from her and here’s what she saw.

It was Mae’s classroom. Her teacher, Mrs. Perkins, was saying, “Sophie, Lisa and Bethany, please come up front by my desk.” Three little girls in plaid dresses got up from their desks and stood beside Mrs.Perkins. “Now you, Peggy, and let’s see, you, Alison. Come up to the front with the others.”

The five girls giggled and whispered to each other. Mrs. Perkins arranged them side by side in a line and asked them to hold hands.

“Now there you are, all in plaid dresses,” Mrs. Perkins said. “Go next door and show your principal, Mr. Green, how pretty and adorable you all look.”

And then the round-faced lady on the bus saw something else in her vision. She saw a little boy next to Mae stand up from his chair and wave his hand madly at the teacher. “Mrs. Perkins, Mrs. Perkins. Wait. You forgot Mae! She has on a plaid dress!”

Mrs. Perkins looked at Mae and glanced away. “No, no, not today. Mae has a sweater on.”

The last thing the lady with the soft round face saw was Mae trying to force a smile. The lady closed her eyes and felt her heart break. The bus pulled over to a stop. Mae and her mother and the lady all got off. The lady leaned down to Mae and said, “May I say that you look so very pretty in that plaid dress! I have a granddaughter about your age and I think I’ll get her a plaid dress for her birthday.” The lady started to walk away, then turned. “She looks a lot like you. Big beautiful eyes and bangs. She lives far away.”

A tiny smile crept onto Mae’s face. It almost stretched into a big smile. “Thank you,” Mae said to the lady with the soft round face. “Say Hi to your granddaughter from me, Mae.”

To write about a child’s deep sadness, from the child’s perspective, can be challenging. What do you all think, writers?

May your writing run deep in any form you choose: realism, humor, fantasy and poetry.

Mae’s plaid dress

Sophie’s plaid dress

Lisa’s plaid dress

Bethany’s plaid dress

Peggy’s plaid dress

Alison’s plaid dress

WRITING ABOUT YOUNG CHILDREN

Posted on June 25, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing about Young Children Leave a comment

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.