“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” --Ernest Hemingway There is a deep excavation process that goes on when a writer is trying to write from the deep places that real, true writing come from. This is true regardless of genre—whether the writer is composing fiction, non-fiction, or memoir. Getting to the core of an difficult issue, tapping real emotion, a painful piece of our past or a basic truth about life—the kind of deep truth that enlivens all good writing—requires that we take the plunge and dive into some of the most difficult and painful parts of our history and our psyche. Recently, I had the opportunity to write about these issues to a student ... [Continue Reading]
Sid Roth joined my Tuesday night writing class with his father on the "new student special." I loved his response to the prompt, "Ode to an Ordinary Object," and thought it was particularly fun when paired with his classmate's response (see below).
Mr. Pencil, your uses are many. I know your ancestry; perhaps your humble beginnings from tree and mountain deep reflect your strength and resilience, and the strength and resilience you lend to me. I know the other humans despise you; they say your glyphing is faint and your point is weak. It is, however, your inner integrity and inflexibility that makes you most valuable to me. Pens, they either work or they do not. I know your failure ... [Continue Reading]
Shannon LaGrandier is a committed member of the Wednesday morning writing group. She wrote this in response to the prompt: Write an Ode to an Ordinary Object. I loved it because we writers are often obsessive about our writing implements.
Oh how I love you, purple pen, let me count the ways. The way your cursive letters splatter all over this page makes my heart skip a beat. The way the ink flows out of your tip is like a gentle breeze grazing over my sheet. So many words long to leave my soul. As my heart opens to the world, you are the vehicle in which it escapes.
Each word begins to come together into sentences, paragraphs and pages. These beautiful purple ... [Continue Reading]
It’s my last day in Mexico and we’re heading back to San Miguel. We passed once again through Tzintzantzun. We drove through the wonderful gauntlet of huge statues, past the town market, and there the carnival we’d seem disembodied on the road day after day. Now it was all set up and ready for children: As Richard was backing up the car, a man stepped out in the street to direct him safely. Richard rolled down his window and gave him a 5 peso coin. “You made his day,” Suzy remarked. Five pesos, apparently was a big tip—the man might have expected half a peso or a peso for his service. “When I first got here,” Suzy said, “I was sometimes annoyed when people would come up to me in the grocery store parking lot ... [Continue Reading]