When I hear from you no more,
the rains will speak your name
and each drop will be a memory of you.
Freeform Friday: “Each drop”
Filed under Freeform Friday, poem, poetry by author
Writers on writing
“Good writing is remembering detail. Most people want to forget. Don’t forget things that were painful or embarrassing or silly. Turn them into a story that tells the truth.”
—Paula Danziger
[Editor’s note: This echoes this past Wednesday’s blog entry: “Writing as Transformational Tool.” You may want to check it out.]
Filed under Pauola Danziger, Writers on writing
Haiku to you Thursday: “Night sounds”
Train whistles, fills in
when fire engine ends wail.
Church bellows the hour.
Filed under haiku, Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author
Writers on writing
“I do not rewrite unless I am absolutely sure that I can express the material better if I do rewrite it.”
—William Faulkner
Filed under William Faulkner, Writers on writing
Writing Tip Wednesday: Writing as a Transformational Tool
WRITING AS A TRANSFORMATIONAL TOOL
by BRUCE HALE
source: http://www.brucehalewritingtips.com/
When we tell stories, we hope we are touching the lives of our readers, making them laugh, cry, wonder, or ponder. But what if, by your writing, you could also touch your own life, help your own emotional or psychological growth?
To some extent, this happens organically. We’re drawn to subjects that have a certain resonance for us, after all. And if you write about topics that touch on your own traumas and past challenges, you’ll sometimes find that you feel better. But if you want to take it further, here are a couple of ways to go about this process more deliberately.
PROBING PAST PAIN
Ever had a sore tooth that you just couldn’t leave alone, even though it hurt when you touched it? Same principle here. Look back at your life, at those incidents that make you cringe even now — the time you embarrassed yourself in front of the classroom, the death of a friend, your first painful breakup. That’s your raw material for story.
Now spend some time writing about the memory that has the biggest charge on it. See if you can recall specific sensory details that make the experience come alive. After setting it aside for awhile, rewrite the incident from a fictional perspective, changing or inventing details to suit your story.
Voila — you’ve just created the seed for a powerful scene (or at least some potent backstory for your character). Now, this incident may not even directly appear in your story — you may use just the emotional tone — but you’ve managed to come to grips with something from your past while adding emotional depth to your tale.
Want an example? Growing up, I had a frequently challenging relationship with my stepdad; we rarely saw eye to eye. In my new book, SCHOOL FOR S.P.I.E.S.: Playing With Fire, I gave the hero, Max, a difficult relationship with his dad. Did I borrow actual incidents from my own life? No. But I used the feeling tone, that love-hate vibe, to deepen my story, and in some ways it has helped me feel more peaceful about my past relationship with my dad.
THE PENNEBAKER METHOD
If you want to get more directly therapeutic, you can also write in a directed way about what’s bugging you today.
For nearly 20 years, Dr. James Pennebaker has been asking people to write down their deepest feelings about an emotional upheaval in their lives for 15-20 minutes a day, four days running. In his book, WRITING TO HEAL, he states that many who have followed his instructions have had their immune systems strengthened, grades improved, or even lives changed.
The 4-day writing process, he says, helps us translate an experience into language, and in doing so, we essentially make that experience graspable. “Emotional upheavals touch every part of our lives,” Pennebaker explains. “These things affect all aspects of who we are, and writing helps us focus and organize the experience. When people are given the opportunity to write about emotional upheavals, they often experience improved health.”
Sound intriguing? Give it a try. You may find it improves your life as well. Or at least your stories.
Filed under Bruce Hale, writing tip, Writing Tip Wednesday
cARtOONSDAY rEDUX: tHE gREAT eSCAPE
Sometimes, plot happens.
[Editor’s note: Apparently, in addition to needing talent, I can also use an editor. I had an extra “y” dangling in the earlier version, which I only caught a little while ago. Possibly the best letter to have dangling at the end of a word considering the subject. Above is a slightly updated version, sans extra “y.”]
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Monday morning writing joke: The best laid lines
The Queen was touring a Scottish hospital. She approached the bed of a patient who shouted out: “Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!”
Another patient staggered up to her and sang “Should auld acquaintance be forgot.”
Turning to a doctor she asked if she was in a ward for mental patients.
“No ma’am,” he said. “This is the Burns Unit.”
[Editor’s note: look up the works of Scottish poet Robert Burns if you have trouble getting this pun. But, hey, it’s the closest joke I have that is in any way related to writing and the Olympics, which used to have poetry competition as an event. Sadly, no more. Not in the modern Olympics, which I like could use a little literary lift.]
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
Workshop weekend: haiku: “Hair”
Hair on my pillow. /
Touching it, I feel your touch. /
Day begins anew.
Filed under haiku, poetry by author, Workshop weekend
Workshop weekend: Saturday story: The blathering idiot and Spotted Dick
The blathering idiot darts up to a stocking clerk in a grocery store.
“You’re Spotted Dick, where is it?”
The male stocking clerk looks at him. “Come again?”
“Your Spotted Dick,” the blathering idiot said. “I need your Spotted Dick.”
“But I don’t have one.”
“One? One what?”
“Spotted dick, sir.”
“But you’ve advertised that you do.”
The clerk’s face turns red.
“I have not!”
“Yes, you have.”
“No I haven’t!”
“Yes, you have advertised that you have Spotted Dick.”
The clerk blushes. “That’s not what I advertised, sir.”
The blathering idiot stops, looks at the young man, a couple of small clusters of acne on his check and chin, and slowly realizes he may have been misunderstood.
He spots another clerk. This time a woman. He walks up to her. “Have you Spotted Dick?”
“Have you tried aisle nine?” she says and then quickly walks away.
Canned Spotted Dick; find it at your local grocery store. Just be careful whom you ask.
“Thank you.” The blathering idiot walks over to aisle nine. It is an aisle of coffee and tea and some drinks in pouches, but there is no Spotted Dick. He stomps up and down the aisle twice and is about the curse this store, the earth, even the universe itself when a woman walks by, Spotted Dick in her cart, near the top, the name in plain view.
His face lights up. He points at the can. “Madam, do you know what you have?!”
She looks him up and down. “It’s not what you think.”
“I know what it is.”
“It’s not disgusting or lewd.”
“Where … did … you … find it? I must have it.”
“It’s the last can and you can’t have it.”
“It’s the last can and I can’t have it?”
“That’s right.”
“No it’s not. It’s the last can and I can have it.” He reaches forward, snatches it out of her cart, and runs to the front of the store. He hears the woman wailing and sobbing, screaming to anybody and everybody that somebody has her Spotted Dick.
The blathering idiot is almost out of the store when he is stopped by an off duty police officer working as a security guard. The blathering idiot has his Spotted Dick firmly clutched in his hands. He told the checkout clerk he didn’t need a bag. Zoey was waiting. It was all she wanted to patch things up between them. It was British, she said, and she wanted to help celebrate the Olympics. She showed him the ad and off he dashed to the store, barely getting his clothes on.
“Sir, I need to see some ID,” the security guard says.
“What?” the blathering idiot asks. “I paid for it fair and square.”
The guard nods. “I’m sure you did, but I still need to see some ID. I’m afraid I am going to have to cite you.”
“For what?”
The guard looks down at what the blathering idiot has clutched in his hand. Then he looks down below that. “Sir, your fly is open and several people have spotted … have seen your spotted….”
Filed under blathering idiot, Saturday story, Workshop weekend
Booker's Blog 