S ANDRA CISNEROS

From time to time, I enjoy recommending author's I have enjoyed. My creative writing students are encouraged to read not only in the genre they write in but in all genres. Sandra Cisneros is a writer I recommend for her "way with words," for the freedom of her woman's voice, and for the strong message she offers all readers.

One of her first books I read was "The House on Mango Street" which is a series of vignettes about a young girl growing up in the Latino section of Chicago. It is a deeply moving story filled with the power and rage of growing up. As with most really good authors, Sandra Cisneros leaves you with a sense this is her life story in the guise of fiction.

"Women Hollering Creek" is another great book. Some of her most powerful work, however, are the essays she has writen over the years. Though I can't remember the title of this particular essay, I recall she was always seeking her father's approval which she wrote about in this piece. It was only when he was very ill and she read him an essay she had written about his not being able to accept her successes in the publishing world, that he truly saw her for what she was--his special daughter, the writer.

Recenly, I purchased a book on writing at "The Friends of the Library" and found her article on letter writing included. I was blown away by the beauty of the art of letter writing she laid out for high school students. I'm going to quote a few of her thoughts here--with permission, Ms. Cisneros.

"People don't realize you can start a letter anywhere...write whatever comes into your head." She uses it as a "way of meditation, of listening inside my heart to how I'm being affected by the outside world." She also says you can use your letters as a gateway to the creative world for either fiction or nonfiction.

Pick up something by Sandra Cisneros. I think you will be intrigued by the way she "speaks" the written word.

ASK FOR A WORD

A recent flight to and from Florida gave me some extra, quiet, uninterrupted time to write. I was elated as I had been pushing to meet a book deadline while packing (and repacking) for the trip and tidying up loose ends before a two-week absence from home. I deserved this time to write.

So what to write about? I didn't want to pack notes for some big project I had in mind. I wanted something new, never thought of before, no seed already planted. And it began to jell on the beginning flight from San Diego to Atlanta.

Before hubby went to sleep (I swear that man can sleep anywhere!), I asked him for a word. Knowing what my favorite type of story to write is, he offered the word "comfort."

My seat mate was young--tall, I could tell by the legs folded beneath the seat in front of him. Clean-cut, muscular, perfect short haircut. Living near Marines and Navy bases for many years, I saw military written all over the man.

It turned out to be Army--Special Forces. He shared some of his training when I asked. He was rightly vague about the parts of the world he had served in but admitted to Iraq. And while he napped I observed him, and took notes.

There was little time in Florida to write. The family hadn't been together for five years. My youngest granddaughter was getting married. My three great-grandsons were a treat to be with. I did find some time to sketch the outline for a story.

On the flight home while I sat near the window, hubby slept (yes, again), and the sky turned from afternoon to evening, I wrote. There's this mother going home to care for her terminally ill daughter when she meets a young Army officer on her flight. He listens intently to her as she speaks of facing the loss of a daughter and then shares his loss of too many young soldiers under his command.

Somehow I have to get them together, to have them help each other through their pain.

I haven't completed the story yet. But I'm not worried. There's an old saying--"Don't push the river." It means some things have to be left alone to simmer, to happen by themselves--in their own time.

I'll wait for just the right word or words to bring my story full circle.

What's the word that can get you started?

PLANTING SEEDS

I've got a scene running through my head and no matter how frivalous it sounds right now, I'd better take notes. It's those glimmers of ideas, with a little time and right brain mentoring, that often become some of our best work.

Lisa Leonard-Cook says in her outstanding book "The Mind of Your Story," "these ideas stuck in my head are fictional seeds." She tells readers she's not ready to begin to write, not with that one seed, because it takes her at least three unrelated seeds collected before she can begin.

Back to my seed. I see a woman in an older model car slowly pulling over to the side of a highway as the car dies. She sits there for only a moment before pulling her heavy coat from the crowded backseat and stepping out into the cold, whipping wind of a gray Wyoming afternoon. It's then I see with my muse's eye that she is pregnant--very pregnant.

Who is she? What's she doing on this road alone, in her condition, in late October or early November, a time when she could have run into an early snow storm? My mind says she doesn't live anywhere near here. Where's she from? What is she doing here? Yes, that's it--she's running. From what? Or whom? A violent boyfriend? An abusive husband?

If we look at this scene, I realize I have more than one seed planted already. But I'm not quite ready to begin writing this story. Where is it going? Who will rescue her? Will she be found by her pururer? What is the plot about? Where will the story take the reader? What's the message?

The seeds have been planted but they have yet to root or leaf out. I'll just let them strenghten and grow right where they are--until the story won't let me wait to tell it.

COMPARED TO WHO?

The book is with the publisher as I've said before. It's been edited, polished, rewritten--all of those steps we authors take in order to have our books sell. I have no illusions about having written a bestseller. Seldom do short story collections reach those heights--unless written by a novelist who has a name already, or a celebrity who has the name but may not know a noun from a verb. But what if no one buys my book?

Loyal friends will purchase a copy I know. Many of the readers of my previous books will purchase this one. Except for the readers who have expressed disappointment that this book is not another quilt story collection, I can count on them. When I speak of readers in general, I am talking about new readers--ones who come across one of the promotions I will be doing, a book review, or a spot on Amazon. I want them to read me,love me, buy the next one I write.

But who am I, in comparison to an Allison Brennan (super mystery writer), Nora Roberts (prolific best seller), or Margaret Coel (a writer of Southwest/Native American stories). Of course, my writing isn't as deep as some. It's not a comedy, nor a thriller, or a romance. The book may not appeal to every woman reader, and I doubt if many men will want to learn just what women can do if twisted crosswise. The "catchy" title might be over the top for other potential readers.

Why do I do this to myself?

When I go to the bookstore or library, do I choose the same book as you, or my friends, or the stranger standing in line with me? Of course, I don't. Each one of us choose a book for an individual reason, different from the other choices in most cases. If the same book appealed to all, what need would there be for we authors to dream up the worlds and characters we live with as they tell us their stories?

I know there will be readers for my book. I must get beyond this comparison business. Readers of short stories will love the variety of tales; women who have been done wrong by husband or lover will enjoy seeing those creatures get their just desserts, and maybe even pick up an idea or two. And some may buy a copy simply to find out what the heck that quirky title of book and story is all about.

I'll buy one of your books if you'll buy one of mine. Thank you in advance.

FINDING ALL THE ERRORS

With the submission of my latest book, and the editorial comments, I had a fresh look at editing. Although I chose not to spend the big bucks for their editing servies, the first reader pointed out the best of my writing skills, and where I need work. I used these comments to edit/rewrite the entire manuscript. And I am sure those points will be used over and over when I seek publication of my other work.

Here are some of the things I have learned to look for and do:

Seek out dilengently those excess words we all use (just, that, etc.)
Watch those tenses. The change sneaks up on us.
Use the best, strongest verbs we can; snuggle, jog, demand, scream, fight...
Tighten up the work; we write too much, add excess scenes, offer mucho narrative.
Don't depend on Spell/Grammar Check.
Have the right details that will add color to our story.
Seek to write dialog that moves our story along, offers description; show, not tell.

And I learned to not listen to everything you are told. For example, don't change your voice, the special way you tell the story, not for anyone. If you characters are moving this story along, don't rewrite until the plot overwhelms their voice. These were two things I was told to do, and refused to do.

My readers expect to receive a certain type of story from me, and I hope I continue to give them what they want to read. Do the same for your readers.

WRITING ESSAYS

I have been attempting to squeeze in writing a few essays among all the other things I am involved in. Lately, personal essays are what I am most interested in writing. Two went out within the last week and were accepted.

One of the authors at the Book Exposition in July has a new book on the drawing board and she passed out flyers requesting stories on her topic--sharing tea. She specifically asked me if I would write a story for her. The minute she handed me the flyer, the muse began to work and I knew what I would submit. By the time I reached home, I had two ideas for personal essays. The two submissions were made on Friday and Monday I received acceptance of both stories. I am hoping these acceptances put my muse in gear and I can write more along these lines.

Famous eassiest Thoreau wondered about that new fangled telegraph. Folks were saying that this invention could speed up connection between far-flung places in America--Maine to Texas, California to New York. The grand essayist questioned what they would have to say to each other.

Years ago, before cell phones and e-mails, writers such as Thoreau painstakingly wrote essays to connect readers to each other. His essays, and the ones we read today, are how we speak to one another in print. Some have a special information to convey. Others want to allow readers a glimpse into their personal lives, a chance to laugh or cry over an event of importance. And, with the Internet and blogs in particular, we essay writers can reach a huge audience. Mr. Thoreau, we have plenty to say to each other--good and bad.

Essays are authentic. Readers feel like they are communicating with the writer, a real person who offers a glimpse into his soul. Sometimes writers throw out too much information about themselves, but we are people who like to talk to each other, tell others all about the good, bad, and ugly parts of our lives. And readers flock to such sites or blogs to read all the juicy details. That would most likely greatly surprise Thoreau.

I'm going to stick my neck out here and say this: A good essay is one that takes you on a journey, a trip though a new world, gives meaning to observations you may have once made, or wanted to make. Writing and reading essays give us a chance to learn and to share what we have ourselves learned. Then there are the humorous ones, the nostaglic essays, and the pieces that reach out to better the world. They all have a place in our world today.

I am in no way comparing my efforts to those of Thoreau, but I am happy to say his worries about the telegraph having undue influence on writing such pieces, is not a fact in today's world. There are still writers out here who pour out wonderful essays to make readers think, debate and, maybe even write an essay of their own.

NEW PROJECTS

Now that "Pink Poodle Pie" is off to the publisher, I can begin to look at a new project, or two. One thing I am working on is the next issue of "Soul Sisters" and that is well on it's way to be completed. I've finally gotten back to Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe cookbook,and have completed all but three sections. Then I will go back and put in the graphics. Ray's book is started, and I hope to begin putting the quilt stories I have written into the computer. New quilt book maybe?

Of course, life gets in the way. I am still on the Homeowner's Association Board here and we are once again dealing with problems. Presidents of boards seem to think they are God-like,don't have to answer to other Board members for decisions, and can spend money not allocated to be spent. And I have to schedule a meeting of the Landscaping committee within the next two weeks; as new Chairperson, I need to learn what I am supposed to be doing. LOL

And, when I have time, I have a life with Ray. He's facing eye surgery when the surgeon finds a spot for him. It is much more serious than the cateract that also has to be removed, and I will be his eyes, driver, and caretaker for awhile. We love to go to movies or see them at home, take the train to the coast, and enjoy other things together.

Not enough hours in the day.

TRAIN RIDES, SUNSHINE, AND NOTES

After several weeks of tremendous heat, we have settled down to the mid-70's, foggy mornings, and late sunshine. Today, we took advantage of the wonderful weather, hopped on our local train running from 15 miles inland to the Pacific Ocean, and began our Saturday adventure.

I have just sent off my book to the pubisher, have been working on a cookbook project and have my inspirational newsletter deadline rearing its head, but thought I could take off a day from writing. Is that possible for a writer?

Of course, I have my trusty notebook with me at all times. Right there on the train I had to whip it out to take notes. The man across the aisle, dressed in below-the-knee plaid shorts and San Diego Tee-shrt, speaking and laughing loudly on his cell phone (he was meeting someone named Audrey if he could catch the Coaster (an Oceanside to San Diego train), then they'd go to visit two people in Mercy Hospital, and meet up with someone named Gary for the evening). He called Gary after we heard all of this news.

There was the gray-hair-in-braid used-up hippy who drags his bicycle on our car at a Vista stop, then realizes there is no rack for it, pulls it off, and runs it down the concourse, and in another door door while the security guard held the train for him.

A father comes in with his precious blonde daughter in cute sundress. She is so pale and he is so dark--sun dark, I find myself scribbling guesses at an occupation that would create such a color of skin. Construction? Landscaper? Border Patrol? Or merely surfer?

The beach area was out of this world. Hundreds of people under umbrellas and picnic-table shelters, BBQ's going, soft music playing, sun worshipers on towels, swimmers, and surfers. We walked the long pier, stopping along the way to speak with fishermen.
Out came the notebook again. Mexican fishermen on the surf end of the pier were catching large grouper, using mussels for bait. At the end of the pier, Asian fishermen were catching macherel (using macheral as bait) as fast as they could throw their lines in.

Off in the distance, multi-colored sails on a dozen or more boats scoot across the ocean. And as we walked back down the pier, a brown pelican was seated on a trash can, posing for pictures by cell phone bearers, and waiting for someone to come along with those fish he just loved to swallow. A fisherman came to the rescue and offered him lunch.

You do know this writer also had their camera along, don't you? I have photos of crowds on the beach, fisherman hauling in catch, a fisherman cleaning grouper, sailboats on the horizon, a pelican being fed, and two people who had a wonderful day at the beach.

You don't need to write each day. But you will never not be a writer, wherever you go. That trusty notebook has notes to go along with the photos and the day. Who knows where these characters might appear?

FACE TO FACE

Recently, my good friend and writer, Carol, discussed a project she had undertaken for an organization she belongs to. She is to write an article for the newsletter about a fellow member. This may sound like a fairly easy task for an excellent writer but there are several obstacles.

Carol doesn't know this member very well. The subject is very quiet, never speaks out at meetings, and there was no way they could meet before the article had to be turned in. Carol stated she was going to give her a telephone call--"to at least hear her voice." Her question to me was did I feel face-to-face interviews were the best way to go, and could the second best be an interview by telephone?

I went back twenty-five years to the memory of a college course I took on reporting.
Paul McLeod was my instructor, as well as being a reporter for the Orange County (CA) Register and several other local newspapers. He made the classes so intesting I never wanted to miss a class. And he was one who always gave us the opportunity to have a "hands on" session.

Paul told us interviewing someone face-to-face would guarantee an emotion-packed interview. He cautioned us to have our questions in mind, of course, but we should also look the interviewee in the eyes, note the reactions/emotions, and always watch the bodylanguage. Writing an interview, he told us, was much more than words. His second choice would be a telephone interview; make sure to listen to the tone of the voice.

I never thought I would find myself in my mid-forties interviewing a 6' 7" college basketball star--and enjoyiing it. I added the sound of the crowd, the rush of the game, and the expressions on the players face to enhance my words. It's the same way I conducted an interview of a local rock star after the loudest concert I can remember ever attending. Beneath the wild hair-do and dark makeup/lipstick, was a sweet gal with a great voice. What an experience Paul gave us all--interviews in living color--words and expressions used to the max.



Even today, I feel Paul had excellent advice. Being in the presence of someone you are tasked to write about adds all the personal touch you need to offer an article complete in all ways.