The Place For My Writers Notes

Original Posting 5 April 2012

Writer's Digest, December 1990, pages 24, 26 and 27, have an article by Thomas Clark with the title, "How to Get Started As a Writer." I'm going to skip lightly by his advice to set aside an area where you can write, act like a writer, collect the tools a writer needs, read them, put words on paper, write every day, decide what type of writer you want to be, think small, put your work in the mail, and expect to be rejected. But he also included five short writing assignments that I thought you might want to try.

A character sketch. Write a few pages about a character you'd like to use in a short story or novel. Who is this person? What does she want from life? Who is keeping her from it? What does she look like? How does she spend her days? Write until you feel you've known this person for years.

An overheard conversation. Eavesdrop on a conversation at the office, in the grocery, or at the health club, then come home and recreate it on paper. Write until the dialogue reads like people talk.

A probing journal entry. Use your private book to explore an ethical dilemma, ponder a philosophical gray area, or justify a questionable action. Dig deep and stretch your ability to translate thoughts into words.

A letter to an out-of-town relative. Describe something or someone the relative has never seen -- a new house, for instance, or a newborn child. Offer as complete a portrait as you can.

A rewritten scene. Pick a section from a book you thought was poorly written and rewrite it. Change whatever you want to create an improved version that still serves the book's overall purpose.

There you go. Character, dialogue, idea, description, or scene. Take your pick, and write!

Original Posting 8 August 2011

Writer's Digest, February 1993, pages 32 and 33, have an article by Arno Karlen. Arno is talking about the simple practice of keeping a journal. It's an exercise in self-discipline, I suppose. Let's take a look at what a writer's journal does for you.

"I've been a writer, editor and teacher for more than 30 years, and that's how long I've kept a journal, diary or both. My journal is my laboratory, the workshop in which I find-to my eye, ear and language. It's both a warehouse for my imagination and a nursery for future works. Much of my writing begins there."

That sounds pretty exciting! Arno notes that a writer's journal is not a "dear diary" outpouring. Instead, it's a place to exercise imagination and craft. Your writing should improve, your ideas and observations increase in vividness, and it spills over into your other writing. However, most people try journals and then give up. The problem is that nobody says how to keep one! It needs a plan, and organizing idea and mental roadmap.

First, are you keeping a journal or a diary? The main distinction is that a diary is more private, while a journal is a workshop. Arno actually keeps both, one to talk to himself (the diary) and the journal for writing -- anecdotes, conversations, descriptions of faces and voices. Comments on public events and reading. Phrases that caught his attention, even if they don't belong in what he's currently writing. Ideas for articles, stories, poetry that need to ripen.

Arno reminds us to review the journal pages when we're looking for scenes, characters, or ideas.

Also, use your journal to practice dialogue, narrative, and description. Make yourself a constant observer.

Arno suggests starting out by committing to doing at least three months of journal writing. Along with a minimum daily production -- one long paragraph, a half of a typed page? Certainly you can write more, but decide to do the minimum every day.

To help focus your journal, Arno suggests seven steps:

1. Always carry a small notebook. Take notes everywhere. Sure, lots of times you can't write down everything, but at least make a note to remind yourself later.
2. Become a relentless observer. Colors, sounds, other people, yourself. Every encounter -- put it in your journal and make it live.
3. Set yourself a variety of assignments. There's a two-week list below -- work through it at least twice during your three months.
4. During the second month try this exercise for two weeks: each day describe a thing, person, or event in about one page. Then revise the previous day's entry, polishing it as if you are going to show it to another writer.
5. At the end of every week and every month, skim your entries for the time. See what is well-written and badly written, remember which was easy or difficult. See which strengths you've got, and what skills you need to work on. Use this to lay out future journal work.
6. For one week, keep a personal diary instead of a journal. Make it as intimate as you dare. Later, compare the diary and the journal pages. Which helped you with writing skills and personal satisfaction? What did you learn doing these two kinds? Then you can decide what you want to do -- diary, journal, or some combination.
7. Read some published journals.

After three months, answer the question: how can a journal help me to write a better poem, story, article, or book?

Arno suggests that a journal can help us practice accurate, vivid writing. It can help us with characters and events, colors, smells, the progress of events and ideas. And because we're not trying to write in a particular form or genre, the journal let you focus on particular skills or problems.

"You discover that there are no days or lives without drama, pathos and humor; there are only days and lives unexamined."

Blogs, journals, all that good stuff...

Oh -- 14 days worth of assignments:

1. Describe a person you know. Another acquaintance, having read the description, should be able to recognize the person.
2. Sit for 5 minutes with your back to a window. Using only sounds, describe everything that happens outside. If possible, do this on a rainy day.
3. Describe -- through observation -- how a number of people do one simple thing differently. You might report on how they blow their noses, full of newspapers, or study labels in the supermarket.
4. Describe an incident observed in a public place. It should stand independently, a small but vivid slice of life.
5. Describe a smell and everything you associate with it.
6. Observe all the shop signs on a block. Write a mini essay describing them and what they reveal about the area.
7. Explain what you dislike about someone.
8. Rewrite yesterday's entry, making funny.
9. Tape-record 1 minute of conversation among two or more people. Recreate it on paper as convincing dialogue.
10. Describe how a relative, friend or neighbor speaks. Catch voice quality, mannerisms and body language.
11. On a day when you can think of nothing to write, describe how it feels to have nothing to say.
12. Write a one-page description of anything or anyone, in your usual style. Rewrite it, making sure no word is modified by more than one adjective or adverb.
13. Write an opinion piece about an opinion piece in a newspaper or magazine.
14. Describe how you feel about journal writing at this point.

A way to practice observation and re-creating the worlds around and inside you in words -- and all it takes is a little paper (or some bits on your computer) and some time. Not bad!

I usually tell my students when I'm asking them to write a journal to try to do three things: describe something that happened as objectively as possible; then describe their own reaction to that -- how did they feel? And finally, what would they like to do the next time? It's a real simple framework, but my students seem to be much happier to have even that simple guidance: what happened? How did you feel about it? What do you wish you had done?

So, journal?

Originally posted 18 Aug 1994

weirdly wondering...

strange
tink
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Stone Cold Sober
Copyright 1994 Mike Barker

The Real World

Start with a simple rock.

I pick it up, and contemplate the shiny quartz, the weight in my hand. And then the mirror cracks...

What I hold is a great nothing, spotted at widely separated locations (only partially decided) with tiny twists of energy clotted so thickly that they bend the nothingness wherein they dwell. These twists come in various flavors, spins, and odd colors, interacting with each other in weak or strong ways.

Along the outer reaches of what I see as a solid, but which in truth is little more than nothing with a scattering of energy, war goes on!

Blasts of loose energy interact in a complex way with some of the twists. Some of that energy is turned around and freed again, wandering across more emptiness (some being lost to twists lurking in that space, but most avoiding complications) into a denser region of twists. Here the energy is bent and slowed in its mad rush. More energy is lost, but a fraction wins through to a broad mass of very dense twists where it is captured and excites chemical exchanges (more fancy dancing from the twists!). These slowly carry the excitement into a web of neurons, where the energy dance is gleefully compared with similar excitements in the past...

Some of the twists also have interacted with other nearby twists and the overall field of warped space, in ways that excite nerves, muscles, and all the rest of this protoplasmic lump into thinking about "weight" and "texture" and other illusions.

I probably don't even notice the tiny wanderings of traitor twists from the solid into other solids or gases and vice-versa.

As far as we can tell, that is the "real" world--not at all what we ordinarily think of. Looked at in fine and across time, the "solid objects" we often imagine are neither very solid nor nicely set apart from the rest of the matter and energy and space which flows and roils here. Liquids, gases, and all the rest also have their oddities.

As for social, psychological, and other dogma, verse and canticle--as real as a wisp of nothing, and almost as likely. Abstractions heaped on generalizations and based in specious postulates and acclamations may be enjoyable, may be thoughtful, but rarely are they real in any important sense of the word...

Philosophically, the problems are even worse. That past, or future, which you may happily think of--there is no evidence, no way of proving that either exists. Even the rather elaborate farce known as the scientific world "out there" is basically unprovable--I may be dreaming the whole thing while carefully and lovingly wrapped in my metamorphal cocoon in the second bunk, room 425, in the intensive psychiatric care ward of the Lords of the Sluggish Hordes.

Note that this in no way forbids us enjoying the play. But as long as we are in the system, we have no way of knowing what it is...

So, my poor little rock is not so simply real after all...

The Only World

Do you believe in the Antarctic?
Have you ever been there? Do you have personal experience?

For that matter, do you believe in my little rock?
You haven't seen it, yet it exists in a fashion in your mind.

Most of the world in modern societies consists of places, events, and so forth which you have not personally experienced. The tiny shell of personally experienced reality is there, but it is supplemented and all but lost in a vast array of other worlds experienced second-hand through the accounts of others and through the expanding channels of media. And the "world" of an accident presented by Channel 7 and Channel 9 are not quite the same worlds! Similar, but as disturbingly different as the views from your right eye and your left eye...the world jumps and shifts when you look at one, then at the next.

So many, many worlds--one for each person, more for each sensation scratching and piercing our thick skins, still more for the pins and needles crawling up our spine, and yet more for...

The World Worthy of Art

Ah, me, the temple of the profane asked to hold the limits of the imagination and the sacred abstractions?

Let me just mention that I don't even have a rock.

And art may justify your world...
or destroy it.

That's the way art is.

Somewhere along that path.

"Temple walls keep falling on my head,
But I haven't got the time to pull apart the pillars,
Flying's not for me!
Those temple walls keep falling, they just keep on a falling...
Because I'm free..."
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Original posting 25 April 1994

"And of course, as everybody knows who has ever played at games, the ones that are the most fun - to lose as well as to win - are the ones that are the hardest, with the most complicated, even dangerous, tasks to accomplish. ... The artist seeks the challenge, the difficult thing to do; for his basic approach to life is not of work but of play.
...
"Life as an art and art as a game - as action for its own sake, without thought of gain or loss, praise or blame - is the key, then to the turning of life itself into a yoga, and art into the means to such a life."

Myths To Live By
Joseph Campbell

Does he mean life is like a yoyo - it has its ups and downs?

[OWC: compare life with other toys - frisbee, surfboard, whatever - in a humorous way (I would say ironic, but I can't quite pin it down:-)]

Original posting 10 September 2009

Writers' Digest, October 2004, pages 26 to 33, has a collection of short "nuggets of wisdom" related to getting published. Maria Schneider is the author of the compilation. Take a deep breath, and here we go:

"It isn't easy to get 500 pages of manuscript down to one page for a book proposal. This can take weeks to do. Look at the cover jackets of books that are similar to yours. Write a book jacket for your manuscript -- except tell the entire story." Bob Mayer

There's that book jacket again. Imagine walking into a book store, and there's this book there... and you pick it up, and glance at the description. Wow! What a story. And you decide you just have to write that book...

Since of course, the story is yours. But what's the cover have on it? Quotes from people? Okay, what do they say? And the blurb that describes what's inside? What's it say? What about the dreaded cover picture? What is it? Fabio (isn't that the guy's name)? Or what? A sprawling canvas full of...

Go ahead. Write the book jacket. Write the book proposal. Write the publicity blurbs. Use those hints and scraps to help decide what should be in your story. And then, of course, there's the hard work... write, write, write so that the pages are there to fill in the book jacket.

Original Posting 22 August 2009

Writer's Digest, August 2006, pages 74 and 75, have an article by I. J. Schecter with the title, "kids teach the darndest things." Basically, this is 10 lessons about writing that Schecter learned from his three-year-old son Julian. I'll summarize, but the stories about watching Julian do things are fun -- you ought to read the article.

1. Build towers one block at a time. Writing projects are big and daunting. Break them into little steps, then work on that one small block. Set the big picture aside for the moment.
2. Use your imagination. "When writing a new piece, I rarely know what's going to work ahead of time -- so I have to be willing to experiment. For a toddler, pushing the envelope is second nature. When I asked Julian to brush his teeth and he says, 'It's not a toothbrush, it's a dragon,' I'm not surprised; I'm reminded of the importance of looking at things in fresh ways."
3. Be open to new directions. Sometimes pushing ahead just makes things worse. Do you insist on brushing with a dragon, or go in search of prey and play? Accept the new possibilities, and enjoy the fun.
4. Ask "why." Great stories mean you to know your characters. Toddlers do exhaustive inquiry -- why is it this way? Why isn't it this other thing? Questions and questions and questions. That's what you need to ask, too.
5. Keep it simple. Overexplaining to children often results in them looking at you and telling you the simple truth. Keep it simple, direct, and don't bother repeating umpteen times, because that's just boring.
6. Earn the cookie. We encourage children with little rewards and cheers. Do it for yourself, too. When you hit your goals, reward yourself. Cheer for yourself.
7. Get to the point. Listening to other people tell stories, you may have noticed that they start over here, tell you about what they had for breakfast, drag in something else, and so forth and so on... until you've forgotten what you asked in the first place. What was the point? Do the newspaper thing -- get the point in early, then tell all the other stuff.
8. Learn from others. Children pay a lot of attention to each other, observing and trying to imitate. Writers need to read and learn from other writers, too.
9. Plunge in. That quality of absorption, of being focused on and diving in... give yourself permission to let go and do it. Dive in and wrestle with that new idea for a while to find out what you can do with it.
10. Allow do-overs. When a tower of blocks isn't quite right, Julian feels no compunction about knocking it all down and starting over again. Tackle your writing the same way. Aim for perfection, and don't be afraid of making sweeping changes.

There's an implicit lesson here too. There are ideas and guidance about writing everywhere -- it's just a piece of life. So don't get too tied up in trying to get lessons from the aged masters of the art -- Julian has things to teach you too.

Just for fun, over the next week or so, put together your own list of 10 lessons about writing, along with the little stories or explanations of where you found it and what it means to you. Something for your journal perhaps? Or you could post it here on writers.

(to be honest, I'm not sure which I. J. Schecter this is. Does it matter, really, as long as the lessons are instructive? Ad hominem -- that's usually considered a fallacy because people tend to devalue information based on what else the person may have done in their life -- a criminal, a gambler, or whatever -- but it's also a mistake to accept information without criticism based on the person being something special -- rich, powerful, etc. -- isn't it? Does good advice lose its luster when it come from a rusty source? )

Original posting 25 June 2009

A number of years ago, I was teaching a short seminar on creative thinking based on Edward de Bono's books. This was at MIT during the IAP -- interim activity period? -- winter break during January. Most of the students are still on campus, but there are no formal classes. Instead, faculty, staff, even students are encouraged to run seminars and classes on topics that they are interested in.

Anyway, I was doing an introduction to creative thinking. And the room was reasonably packed. So I started in, explaining that I would be going over a number of tools or approaches that could be used to encourage creative thinking. I think I asked if there were any questions before diving into the meat of the seminar.

One young gentleman who had arrived early and unpacked several stacks of paper promptly asked me for my citations. What references made this material worthwhile?

I looked at him and said that frankly that was not the purpose of the seminar. I would be presenting some tools that I had found useful, and that I challenged him to try them, and if they were useful, to use them.

His jaw dropped. "You're not going to provide scholarly citations?"

I shrugged. "No."

He stuffed his papers back into his briefcase and stalked out of the room.

I looked around and told them that if anyone else wanted to leave, I wouldn't be offended. No one else left, and we proceeded to have a good time going over the tools, trying them out with some small exercises, and so forth.

Later I asked a friend about this, and they laughed. They said that might have been the first time that student had been challenged to try something himself, and that he was no doubt extremely surprised that I didn't want to argue citations. They pointed out that he probably had several articles ready to refute me -- that was probably what the stacks of paper were.

I have to admit that for myself, personal utility seems to be one of my best measuring sticks. There are things that are very popular that I personally don't find useful or interesting, and I spend very little time, resources, or effort on them. There are other things -- such as my moldy Writers' Digests -- that I find useful as seeds for thought. I suppose I could use passages from the I Ching, quotations, or other sources, but the various writing texts and magazines help me focus my thinking. I share some of that musing with the list. And frankly, if it works for you -- if it sparks something in your thinking and life -- that's fine. If it doesn't work, well, go ahead and discard it, I won't be offended.

Try it. If it helps, use it. If it doesn't, go on.

And enjoy your day.

Original posting 25 March 2009

Silencing the inner critic?

Writer's Digest, November 2005, pages 36 and 37, offer an article by Jacquelyn B. Fletcher with the title "Squelch Your Inner Censor." You know that little voice in your head that says give it up, this is trash, stop now?

Fletcher suggests some tricks to help quiet that little monster. "The trick is to recognize the moments when the critic shows up and be able to combat its negativity in a creative way that deflates its power."

1. Symbolism slays the beast. Think about what your inner censor is? Gollum? A prissy little man in a black suit that's too tight for him? Maybe a monster with a million little fingers? Whatever, put that picture together, then consider creative ways to quiet it down. Get a gollum toy and shove it into the drawer? Poke pins into the little man in his tight black suit? Tie the million fingers into a knot?

One creativity coach recommends drawing the inner critic or sculpting it out of modeling clay -- then ripping it up and throwing away. This is especially good for damaging critics that attack the person and not the work. Separate your discerning critic that helps you during revision with the work and the damaging critic that undercuts you.

Another approach is to borrow from the method actors. Think of someone that you know who is extremely confident. Think of a physical action or characteristic that you can adopt from them. Sunglasses on your forehead? No socks in those sneakers? Go ahead and do it.

And then there's switchhitting. If your critic won't let you write at this time, maybe it's time to pick out pictures for your characters and settings? How about sketching?

2. Just rewards. Set yourself rewards for making the submissions, for keeping going. The feedback for writing often seems like a bed of nails -- rejection, rejection, rejection. Put yourself in control of the rewards. Every so many drafts, finished stories, submissions, etc., reward yourself.

"The writing life is filled with pitfalls. But the internal dangers are the most difficult to overcome. The goal of every writer is to continue writing even when you're battling your inner bad guy. By turning the avoidance of the inner critic into a fun-filled game, you can trick yourself into the only thing that will get you through -- action."

Interesting. Just who or what is that inner critic poking holes in your confidence, tripping up your forward momentum? And how do you keep yourself going?

Original posting 15 February 2009

Reading like a Writer

Writer's Digest, January 2006, pages 44 and 45, have an article by Linda Busby Parker with the title "Read like a Writer." The point is that you should be learning from writers that you like to read. How do you learn from your reading?

"Observant reading -- the most basic and invaluable route to better your craft -- shouldn't be overlooked." Look for how the author "develops characters, nudges the plot, blends transitions, create suspense and opens our heart."

So you're going to look at how your favorite writers work. If you're like me, you may need to read them at least once just to get past the reading -- I certainly get stuck in reader mode, and forget to watch how they're doing it.

Linda suggests two approaches to looking at plot in your reading. The first is to make note cards, with a card for every plot point. In many stories, you need to include shifts in plots and subplots. Linda recommends including page numbers on each card to let you really go back and look at how this writer put together the storyline. The other approach that Linda suggests is to use highlighters, with one color for each main plot and subplot.

Transition sentences. These are often practically unnoticed in casual reading, but they are keys to how your author ties together the plot and subplots. "How does the author shift from one scene to another?" Stop and take a look at those transition sentences, and how they introduce setting and time and characters. Think about how you could use similar transition sentences.

Character development is the other big thread that you want to study. How does this writer show you their characters? You can use note cards or highlighters, and identify how they've used description, other characters, dialogue, mannerisms, and interior monologue.

The sidebar suggests five other points that you might want to look at in a close reading -- a reading to learn as a writer, rather than simply enjoying the story.

1. Analyze scene handling.
2. Study dialogue
3. How do they establish setting?
4. What conflicts face the main character?
5. How does the novel get resolved?

Fair warning -- this really isn't reading for enjoyment. And sometimes you may find yourself taking apart a book rather than dropping into that reader's zone. But learning can be fun, too.

Exercise? How about picking up that book you know so well. And take a close look at how the writer has constructed it. Look at the beginning scene, the characters, the plot -- and the words and sentences that make that magic happen.

and then write like that!

put some clouds in the sky, maybe a drop of rain, with black letters?