MERRY CHRISTMAS: SEE THE STORY

The title of this blog is a bit misleading. It dosn't have anything to do with the Season, unless you are planning on writing a short story set at Christmas. I'm using the title to wish all who read my blog a Very Merry Christmas, safe and happy travels, and nothing but the best in 2008!
****

You have often heard me say I don't waste my writing time creating outlines. But when I think of it again, that might be a little stretch of the truth. When I do begin to write, I want to have some idea of where I'm going with my story. I need to "see" my characters--at least the most important ones. Though I may do many rewrites, edits, even major changes of scenes, I need to know a few things about my story before I begin to write.

What is the goal of my story? What will these characters I imagine are going to tell their story, need or want in order for their tale to be entertaining? What will it take to reach an acceptable conclusion, even one that you and/or my other readers never thought about?

Can I "see" the story's bone structure? I should be able to put this image into words. I need to have some inkling of how the story ends--that's my light at the end of the tunnel. Do I have some scenes in mind? I need to jot those down. Are there to be highly tense episodes, then lulls in the excitement? I had better be able to create a flow of tension, then resolve to a certain point before bringing in the next obstacle. If I can't do that, my readers will quit on me.

If I put down what ideas I do have about my story--scenes, character sketches, beginnings, endings--I have something that very much resembles an outline. I do write outlines--sort of. So, shoot me. I'm a writer of fiction and I lied. Isn't that a part of what makes me, and you too, dear readers, a writer?

Again, MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY WRITING IN 2008.

WALK IN THEIR SHOES

When you write, you take a risk. You're submitting to your dream of being read (and applauded, of course) for the story that enfolds. The story people who tell your tale are very important. They have to be made to seem real. How do you do that?

I keep an idea book--several, in fact. They may be different sizes--one for my purse, a slightly larger one on my bedside table, and several spiral notebooks scattered about the house. If I imagine a character, or some special trait I'd like to use, I take notes. When out in the world, I may see someone, hear a voice, eavesdrop on a conversation--any of these can be part of a character sketch. But these notes are cardboard characters, only stick figures. They need emotion. Where does that come from?

I try to put myself in the character's shoes. You've read news stories about missing or murdered children, found family members, or the miraculous recovery of the maimed or dying, for example. Can you imagine the heartbreak of the parents or families, or the joy when found safe and sound, or recovering from imminent death? How can people go through such an ordeal? Where do they find the courage to go on? Try to put all of these cries and joys into words.

Is your couple battling big differences in their relationship? Try to remember what it was like while dating or the early years of marriage. The road is never entirely smooth. Your experiences will color your words, your scenes, your characters reactions. You made it and your characters will too. Walk with them through their trials.

One of my short stories is about the first Christmas a woman faces after the death of her only son in Iraq. Though she has a younger daughter who needs her and a husband who loves her, she can't seem to accept the realities of her life now, and she certainly cannot see any reason to celebrate the season.

In her line of vision from the kitchen window is a grove of fir trees, the annual Christmas trees planted by her son. The mother has to physically restrain herself from having each tree removed for someone's firewood. It is only when she has a confrontation with her daughter, that she is drawn into the grove. It is there that the birds and the trees, and her son, come to her, as they speak to her heart.

I worked hard on that story. But it wasn't until I became that mother, listened to her inner thoughts, and felt the tears of loss on my face, that I could create the true emotion of the story.

When you write, try to walk in your character's shoes.

RESEARCH DAY

On Monday afternoons I teach a creative writing class at a nearby Senior Citizens Center. Since my husband plays pool (billiards) with friends on that day and we share a car, I usually drop him off in the morning, run errands or head for the library. Today was research day.

My intent was to look up some information on the Old West for a short story idea I have. Even if writing a romantic comedy (which I hope this will turn out to be), you need to have your facts straight. I wanted to be authentic with the clothing, a saloon and the lawmen of the times--can you see the story begin to form here? After getting some general information from several books, I pulled off a large tome titled, "The New Encylopedia of the American West" (Edited by Howard R. Lamar).

This reference book is compiled of characters, famous and infamous, that make up the history of the Old West. There are the cowboys, military, Indians, and the outlaws of the time. It was interesting just to glance at some of the people who have been a part of our history, and the movies we've seen. And, of course, I had to look up my distant cousin. I wasn't too happy that they tore the myth of my outlaw kin, Jesse James, into tiny pieces. Deep down I know he was a robber, an outlaw, a murderer but--I like the picture many of the disenfranchised people of Missouri and Kansas painted better: He was a Robin Hood of the times.

With time on my hands, I couldn't seem to get out of the Reference Section of the Library. Next, I came across a book titled, "Notable American Novelists." Now, I have never been much of a reader of fantasy or science fiction but I am a fan of Ray Bradbury. His biography is very interesting; the fact that his eyesight was so poor he was turned away by the draft during WW II and was sooo happy that he had an excuse to continue writing, was intriguing. It has been a long time since I saw a list of his publications and some of them brought back memories of great reads: The Martian Chronicles, Fahrenheit 451 and my favorite, Dandelion Wine. In that particular work, a 12-year old is the hero in a small Illinois town in 1928. I never knew critics accused him of attempting to make a very depressed Midwest town appear idealic during the beginning of the Depression. Bradbury said that to children no home town is ugly. End of discussion.

"Facts About the American Wars" was not a pat on the back, let me tell you. It reminded me that we have been wrong more times than not in our chosen enemy.

My last glance today was at "The Folk Songs of America." There has always been music in my home, from childhood through today. I know the words and tune to hundreds of songs of all musical genres. But I am here to tell you that there were hundreds of songs in that book I have never heard of! "Whiskey in the Jar, The Horse Named Bill, The Good Old Rebel, Lincoln and the Soldiers," and "Willie, the Weeper" were but a few of the wonderful (??) tunes. I actually did recognize some of the folk songs: "Shenadoah" (The name of a group of singers, too, isn't it?), "Down in the Valley" (I heard Gene Autry sing that once), "The John B's Sails" (some 1960's folk singers did this one), and Big Rock Candy Mountain (who sang that??).

Well, I guess the ones I did recognize still put me in the "folk" category after all. I suppose research can also remind us that we are fast becoming a part of history too.

I DON'T THINK I BELONG HERE

Each Wednesday morning from 9-11:30, I teach a creative writing class as a volunteer at a local Senior Center. This particular group has named themselves Word Weavers and are a very cohesive group--caring for each other in the craft and personally. The numbers see-saw between 12 and 18; some have been in this group for 20 years (I just took over the class two years ago when the leader gave it up due to her husband's illness), others are newcomers. I thought they all were secure in their feeling welcomed, needed and appreciated. Until today.

Angel (named changed but it suits her personality) came to me after the class and the first words that popped out of her mouth was, "I don't think I belong here." I was surprised and immediately questioned her. "Have I said something that makes you feel that way? Has a member of the group been too harsh in their critiques? Why do you feel this way?" Her answer made me smile. "I am such a quirky writer. My work doesn't fit any of the other work I hear."
I managed to remind her that no one should be able to write like she does.

We writers are not the same, nor should we be. We each have a unique voice, a special way of putting our life, our feelings, our joys and sorrows, our dreams, and our fantasies on paper. We
need to learn to celebrate the differences, the wonderful beauty of that, rather than worry about the fact we aren't writing the same as others.

Writers need to be honest in their writing. Everyone is not the same. We don't have like life experiences. We don't enjoy the same things, eat the same food, read the same books, view the same movies, or love the same kind of people. Writers are privileged in their differences; only we can write our stories, share that part of ourselves that is not like others.

Angel belongs here. She makes us see the beauty in a sunset, the sadness in a family member's dementia, the smile on her granddaughter's face when she slips into one of the dresses Angel creates, and her sharing of life as Angel sees it. She reminds us all of what we want to share with others that only we can write about.

Prompt: Write a quirky poem, a humorous essay, a sad story, a memoir of a by-gone era--anything that shows the reader the "real" you. We'll get to know not only you the person but you the writer through your sharing.

POETRY, ANYONE?

Do you read poetry? If you do, that's so cool. Many people don't. Do you write poetry? If the answer is yes, I am a fan of yours forever. Contrary to what many people over the years (and today) believe, we poets are not a bunch of weird, sitting-in-the-dark, whining or spewing, radicals.

Poets are everyday, ordinary, walk-of-the-life writers who can touch your funny bone, or your soul, in a special way. They have a certain magic that allows them to see the world around them (or in their imagination) uniquely.

If you aren't into poetry, do me a favor? Go to a bookstore or library, sneak into the poetry aisle, pull a book down (I will bet you recognize some of the names of poets there), choose a secluded spot, sit down and choose a few poems to read. Many times when we immerse ourselves in a new craft, we want to try it out ourselves. That's what happened to me--long ago Daddy read poetry to me at night and by the age of ten I was creating birthday and holiday lines for everyone.

Recently I read (in "The Writer's Chronicle") an interview of poet Alan Shapiro by poet Christian Teresi. Alan said he started writing poetry, indirectly, because of a broken nose and wrist. At the time, he listed to a lot of folk music and rock and roll; his early poetry seemed to follow those lines.

In my Texas home, Mama always had the radio, tuned to a Country/Western music station. Especially in the 1940's and 1950's, those songs told stories. When I really got into writing poetry mode, my work was a story in rhymed form. It was a few years before I broke out into that broken-hearted teenage angst and patriotic overtures in my poetry. Like Alan Shapiro points out, life presents great subject material for poetry.

Going through the slow, painful failure of a marriage years ago, drew poetry out of me that reflected that stage of my life. When I divorced there were lines of regret, guilt--and then freedom. And, several years after that upheavel, and much to my surprise, finding (or he found me) my true soul mate, gave a definite pure joy uplift to my poetry.

These days my poetry is a cry for our broken country, for young, damaged returning warriors, for disenfrangised people, and a deep thankfulness to God who has blessed my life in all ways. I haven't come full circle yet--I'm not writing twanging country lines yet. But I imagine that's on the horizon.

Read it. Write it. Poetry is life's truth in song form.