Friday, November 27, 2009

Poetry Friday: My Love For All Things Warm and Breathing


I have seldom loved more than one thing at a time,
yet this morning I feel myself expanding, each
part of me soft and glandular, and under my skin
is room enough now for the loving of many things,
and all of them at once, these students especially,
not only the girl in the yellow sweater, whose
name, Laura Buxton, is somehow the girl herself,
Laura for the coy green mellowing eyes, Buxton
for all the rest, but also the simple girl in blue
on the back row, her mouth sad beyond all reasonable
inducements, and the boy with the weight problem,
his teeth at work even now on his lower lip, and
the grand profusion of hair and nails and hands and
legs and tongues and thighs and fingertips and
wrists and throats, yes, of throats especially,
throats through which passes the breath that joins
the air that enters through these ancient windows,
that exits, that takes with it my own breath, inside
this room just now my love for all things warm and
breathing, that lifts it high to scatter it fine and
enormous into the trees and the grass, into the heat
beneath the earth beneath the stone, into the
boundless lust of all things bound but gathering.

--William Kloefkorn

I've never heard teaching described so . . . erotically.

Kloefkorn pushes boundaries with this one, and I'm sure some readers might find this disturbing. As a teacher my
self, I love the different way Kloefkorn shows a teacher's passion -- not for what we teach, but for who we're teaching.

Thanks to The Writers Almanac for publishing it. Be sure to sign up for your daily dose.

"My Love For All Things Warm and Breathing" by William Kloefkorn, from Cottonwood County: Poems by William Kloefkorn and Ted Kooser. © Windflower Press, 1979.

This photo is by Alfred Eisenstadt.



Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Women Say the Darndest Things!




"In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on woman."

-Nancy Astor, British politician


"When choosing between two evils, I always try the one I've never tried before."

-Mae West, American actress

go to this blog for an interesting take on what Mother Teresa and Mae West had to say (you have to scroll down a little bit . . .)








"Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.

-Doris Lessing, British writer




"The most popular labor-saving device is still money."

-Phyllis George, American sportscaster

Monday, November 23, 2009

Mentor Monday: Self-Discipline the Joyce Cary Way



It's something I struggle with daily -- finding the will to write. The work is hard. It's sometimes isolating. There are days when it seems hopeless to even consider myself talented enough. And so I find ways to distract myself until I gather the courage to finally stop avoiding it. The only person who will write my books is me. Life is too short and the work too long . . .

During these times, I often turn to a description of the author Joyce Cary's last months and days of writing. Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) struck Cary and he died in 1957. I wish I could credit the writer, but I have been unable to locate that information.

So, how dedicated are you to your craft?

He ceased working in the top attic as the stairs became impossible for him and began to use Trudy's old private sitting-room on the ground floor as his study. He had metal grips fitted into the walls of the passages at various strategic points and with their aid and that of a stick could for a time get about without other help. When the disease attacked his hands he contrived a sling with an elastic band which could take the weight of his wrist and leave him free to write . . .

He was in bed all the time now and working under heartbreakingly difficult conditions. He now had a bed-desk invented by himself and made for him by his next-door neighbor, a magistrate whom Joyce called "the Judge". A roll of blank paper ran underneath which led across the desk to another roll on which the used paper was wound.

At first, he still had enough movement in his right hand to be able to push the paper forward as it was used. When this, too, became impossible his son Tristram devised an electrical switch by which Joyce dropped his wrist on a button and the paper moved forward automatically. The hand itself was supported by a sling and the pen or pencil was fastened to the fingers.

You can read more about Joyce Cary here.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Last Time. I Promise!

New writers are often told that they must read, read, read in the genre they want to write. All that reading won’t do a bit of good if you don’t take the time to analyze what you’ve read.

The three passages we’ve been working with describe three different times and places. They elicit separate moods, preparing us to enter the writer’s world. Surprisingly, they accomplish these tasks by using similar techniques. I’m going to use the first two passages to show you what I mean. After that, why don’t you try doing the same exercise with the Jean Fritz entry.

Laura Ingalls Wilder’s opening sentences are very, very simple. The hundred or so words I’ve quoted have a readability level of slightly above a 4th grade level. The individual word readability is probably much lower than that and most likely measures higher because Ingalls uses longer sentence structure. I’ve used color to emphasize several words that elicit feeling. Then, I’ve used bold print to show the repetition of phrase or sentence structure:

“Once upon a time, sixty years ago, a little girl lived in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, in a little gray house made of logs.
The great, dark trees of the Big Woods stood all around the house, and beyond them were other trees and beyond them were more trees. As far as a man could go to the north in a day, or a week, or a whole month, there was nothing but woods. There were no houses. There were no roads. There were no people. There were only trees and the wild animals who had their homes among them.”


Laura Ingalls Wilder

Picture yourself reading that passage aloud. Better yet, try it. Emphasize the blue words. Slow down when you get to the repeated phrasing. Feel the delicious scariness!

* * *
“If, instead of a pencil, I held a brush in my hand, I would paint the scene: the scene of Autumn Street…and Grandfather’s house would loom huge, out of proportion, awesome and austere, with the clipped lawn as smooth and green as patchwork pockets on a velvet skirt. The rough pink brick of the sidewalk, bordered by elms, would wind the length of the street, past the Hoffman’s house, past the bright forsythia bushes that grew around the great-aunts’ front porch, past the homes of strangers and friends and forgotten people, finally disappearing where the woods began.
I would blur the woods. I would blur them with a murky mixture of brown and green and black, the hueless shade that I know from my dreams to be the color of pain.” Lois Lowry

There is scariness here, too, but Lowry's passage also hints at horror.

Try your hand at the last one. Color the words that elicit emotion. Underline the repeated phrasing:

* * *
“In my father’s study there was a large globe with all the countries of the world running around it. I could put my finger on the exact spot where I was and had been ever since I’d been born. And I was on the wrong side of the globe, I was in China in a city named Hankow, a dot on a crooked line that seemed to break the country right in two. The line was really the Yangtse River, but who would know by looking at a map what the Yangstse River really was?
“Orange-brown, muddy mustard-colored. And wide, wide, wide. With a river smell that was old and came all the way from the bottom. Sometimes old women knelt on the riverbank, begging the River God to return a son or grandson who may have drowned. …but I knew who busy the River God must be. All those people on the Yangtse River! Coolies hauling water. Women washing clothes. Houseboats swarming with old people and young, chickens and pigs. Big crooked-sailed junks with eyes painted on their prows so they could see where they were going…” Jean Fritz

Go back in your own work and follow these techniques used by these masters. Choose your words as carefully as a poet. Try your hand at adding repeated phrasing. Does this type of emphasis work for you and your work?

These suggestions are just a couple to look for when you model successful writers. You might also go back and find metaphors or similes, alliteration or assonance. Let the masters show you the way to your own success.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Mentor Monday: Where Are You? (Part Two)

A few weeks ago, I asked you to look at examples from some books that give the reader a good sense of place. I asked you to think about whether you were bringing your readers along when you described the places your characters inhabited. This time, I’d like to use the same three examples and ask you to do a short exercise.

The art of describing a scene requires a fine touch because you are not only telling your reader where your characters are, you are also eliciting a mood. You are often setting the tone of your book. Some writers think of the setting as something akin to an additional character. I feel the setting should be so strong that, in most instances, your story could not take place anywhere else. Would a Tin Man have worked as a character if Dorothy had remained on her Kansas farm? How would a Huckleberry Finn have fared in a 19th century Boston? Just thinking about those possibilities makes me feel a little mentally disjointed. Would I be able to suspend disbelief enough to get into such stories? I don’t know.

So this week’s activity is to re-read the entries I quoted from Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lois Lowry, and Jean Fritz. I chose these passages because each of them open the story. Each writer sets us firmly in the place where her story occurs. This time, however, instead of reading these entries to get a sense of place, read to get a sense of mood. Write down words describing how each passage makes you feel. Try to write 3 to 5 words per entry. Then, when you have completed the exercise, write a sentence or phrase that describes what each passage seems to promise you. In other words, where do you think the author will take you? Will the novel take you to place of comfort? A place of fear? A place of adventure? Try it now:

“Once upon a time, sixty years ago, a little girl lived in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, in a little gray house made of logs.
The great, dark trees of the Big Woods stood all around the house, and beyond them were other trees and beyond them were more trees. As far as a man could go to the north in a day, or a week, or a whole month, there was nothing but woods. There were no houses. There were no roads. There were no people. There were only trees and the wild animals who had their homes among them.”
Laura Ingalls Wilder

This passage makes me feel:_______________________________________________

Ingalls will probably take me to a story about:___________________________________


“If, instead of a pencil, I held a brush in my hand, I would paint the scene: the scene of Autumn Street…and Grandfather’s house would loom huge, out of proportion, awesome and austere, with the clipped lawn as smooth and green as patchwork pockets on a velvet skirt. The rough pink brick of the sidewalk, bordered by elms, would wind the length of the street, past the Hoffman’s house, past the bright forsythia bushes that grew around the great-aunts’ front porch, past the homes of strangers and friends and forgotten people, finally disappearing where the woods began.
…I would blur the woods. I would blur them with a murky mixture of brown and green and black, the hueless shade that I know from my dreams to be the color of pain.”
Lois Lowry

This passage makes me feel:_______________________________________________

Lowry will probably take me to a story about:__________________________________

“In my father’s study there was a large globe with all the countries of the world running around it. I could put my finger on the exact spot where I was and had been ever since I’d been born. And I was on the wrong side of the globe, I was in China in a city named Hankow, a dot on a crooked line that seemed to break the country right in two. The line was really the Yangtse River, but who would know by looking at a map what the Yangstse River really was?
“Orange-brown, muddy mustard-colored. And wide, wide, wide. With a river smell that was old and came all the way from the bottom. Sometimes old women knelt on the riverbank, begging the River God to return a son or grandson who may have drowned. …but I knew how busy the River God must be. All those people on the Yangtse River! Coolies hauling water. Women washing clothes. Houseboats swarming with old people and young, chickens and pigs. Big crooked-sailed junks with eyes painted on their prows so they could see where they were going…”
Jean Fritz


This passage makes me feel:_______________________________________________

Fritz will probably take me to a story about:____________________________________


Tomorrow, we’ll look at these passages one final time to notice the techniques the writers use to elicit these emotions.