The Place For My Writers Notes

Original posting 31 Dec 2011

The other day, one of the news shows had a fluffy white rabbit and a glass globe full of seahorses as props to talk about the new year. As they reminded us, 2011 is the year of the rabbit. And they showed us the fluffy white rabbit -- a long-haired variety who was quite happy to be on TV.

Then they held up the globe full of seahorses as they told us that 2012 is going to be the year of the dragon. As they gave us close-ups of the seahorses, I turned to Mitsuko and asked what seahorses are called in Japanese. Are they dragons?

She thought for a minute, then said, "Oh! Tatsu no otoshi go." I knew that tatsu meant dragons, so we were getting closer. But what was that other part?  Otoshi -- forgotten -- go? Oh, that's ko, or children, with the sound changed to make it easier to say!

So seahorses are forgotten children of the dragon? I'm almost willing to bet that there is a folktale somewhere behind that name, but in the meantime, I am enjoying that poetic description of seahorses. Forgotten children of the dragon, indeed. So that's why they are being used as representatives for 2012. Along with quite a few painted and drawn dragons, of course.

Do you suppose there are other forgotten children of the dragon around? Something to think about as we go from the year of the rabbit, 2011, to the year of the dragon, 2012.

Happy New Year!

Original posting 27 September 2009

Sunday morning, here in Japan, one of the television shows introduced us to a songwriter who was visiting a local school -- middle high school, I think. And what she was doing was running workshops on writing songs.

I like the approach -- pick a theme, then collect related words and phrases, and fit that into a framework. Then refine. And perform, get it out there in front of somebody. I think you could use something like that for a poem, or even a story. Let me explain...

The first part I saw, she had a whole class and said they were going to write a song together. The theme of the song was the color green. And she asked all of the students to dig down inside and tell her what green reminded them of. Was there a season, a place, a feeling, or whatever that it reminded them of? The first few answers were hesitant, but she wrote them on the board. And added that if something that someone else said reminded you of something, please, add that. And soon she was collecting suggestions, roughly grouping them as they came up. Until she had covered the very large whiteboard with words. Then she started going over them, erasing some, noting common threads, pointing out that this and that were kind of related.

The next step was simple. She had a melody -- a simple one with a strong beat -- and she took phrases from their collection and put it together into a simple song. One verse, thumpety-bump-bump-bump.

And now that we've practiced that, she divided everyone up into three different groups. Each group pulled a flag from a wastebasket, selecting their theme -- blue, red, or white. And the groups split up into subgroups, each of which was responsible for making one verse of their song. Four verses per group. So they collected words, and then matched them up with the group melody.

She also worked with the groups. Especially once they had their draft verses ready, she helped to review them. One of the things she pointed out was abstract or common or cliche phrases. I think one group had used "my summer" in three of the four verses, and she suggested that they think about more specific or personal phrases. What is my summer? What do you remember or think of when you hear that phrase? I think they replaced one of them with melting ice cream, and perhaps another with something about watermelons. So they refined their songs.

And the very last step in this process was for the three groups to perform their songs for each other. They took over an assembly space, which looked a lot like my high school gym, and had risers set up. And each group got up and sang the song that they had written in the last two or three days.

She cautioned them that they probably wouldn't become famous songwriters or performers. Especially not with just one week. But on the other hand, they had put together songs that meant something to them. They had worked together, they had selected words and experiences that came from their hearts, and performed them in front of their friends, and for a show that would be on national TV. And she assured them that no matter what they did in the future, they could always remember doing this song, this time.

And I'll bet those students will always remember writing a song.

Original posting 18 December 2008

Although I doubt if he would have.

Lunch time, the NHK people are visiting a horse farm. And the big bruiser who is their visiting TV talent gets handed a folded mass of greens to feed to the friendly horse.

He sticks it out close to the horse, who clearly wants to eat this and stretches out to get it. The horse gets a little of it, but the TV talent opens his hand and backs off, dropping most of it outside the horse's stable.

The horse farm guy says something about how friendly he is, and gives the talent another handful of greens. He steps forward again, and the horse manages to get a mouthful. The horse farm guy urges that the talent pet the horse, and he reaches out . . . and drops the greens, sort of waves his arm in the air near the horse, and backs off again.

I'm watching this on TV and diagnosing "someone is scared of horses" while they just keep on with the rest of the show. Of course, I'm also rooting for the original horse, who is probably standing in his stable wondering just why this stranger offered him a treat, then dropped it before he could get a good bite of it. TWICE! He may be thinking to himself, "I shoulda bit him."

But horses are pretty friendly critters. And these were well-kept horses. Racing, I think. Still, offering a treat to an animal and then dropping it, twice? Why not admit the first time that this is just too scary, and let someone else feed the horse?

I guess that would break the "masculine bruiser TV talent" mythos, though.

(Mr. Ed would have bit him, I bet :-)