The Culture of Language

I hope everyone here knows the word, "Schadenfreude." It's one of those great words that gets thrown around a lot, and people out here kind of know what it implies but might not know the exact definition. Then there are those sophomore German students who know that it is a combination of two words - damage and joy - but don't quite know how that links together. Then there's everyone who knows the definition goes along the lines of, "pleasure derived by someone from another person's misfortune."

Easy, right?

In a way, we learn a lot about cultures from what they deem worthy of requiring its own word, and the same goes for understanding our own language, and in doing so, our own culture. Following the stereotype of the very sober, intellectual Germans, we are not surprised that they turned such an odd, unique feeling into one word. For the more adventurous languages, we have words like, "tsundoku," which is, "the collecting of books you intend to read but never get around to." Does our culture need a word for that act? Probably not (though I know several writers who will read this and jot that word down for further usage). However, English has a wealth of words that represent all the kinds of joy in the world, an entire spectrum going from pleasant to ebullient and beyond. Some things just matter more than others.

Have you ever talked to someone who is thinking about repainting a room, and when you ask what color they are considering, they go into an entire spiel about that one color? If they say, "I want to go with a cocoa-like feel, with more of a warmth and coziness but maybe just a little lighter than a typical chocolate bar," they have told you more than just a color. They showed they are very invested in this idea of the perfect living room color and the emotions they want to evoke. If they answered, "Brown," chances are they are not interested in the color as much as they are about just slapping some new paint on the walls. Each description is basically the same color, but exploring it through word choice imparts a significance upon the act itself. 

When we write, let's keep this in mind. If I describe a room (not my friend's brown living room) as having red walls, well, that's a description but it doesn't invite the reader to investigate. It communicates a color, but not a significance. If I want the reader to start adventuring in a particular direction, picking up a certain mood, I need to go beyond the confines of just, "red." What comes to mind if the walls are lipstick red, or like deep, rich rose petals? What about blood red - what mind does that put the reader into? There are tons of versions of the color red, each one indicating a slightly different hue but more importantly, they all can set off a different importance in their meaning.

Often, ten words aren't necessary to describe what one word can tell a reader. However, depending on the importance of the message, you should use whatever words you have to guide the reader along and impose a feeling that comes with the color. I'm sure some language has one nice, conveniently-packaged word for describing that effect, but for now, let's just call it "good writing."  

   

Not the Easiest Thing to Write

For me, this year has been a bunch of firsts that have been quite difficult to process, and there's a big one coming up. Sunday is Mother's Day, and it will be the first time recognizing this day since my mother passed away. Anyone who follows this site will know that she spent her last several years with severe dementia, virtually unable to interact with the world around her. Every time I visited her, I would leave thinking, "Is there anything of her left in there?" but there was no conclusive answer. The best I could come up with is, "Maybe, but probably not." Incredibly uncertain but enough to leave open possibility that maybe she knew I was there. This year, however, I will ask that question and the answer will be, "No." For here and evermore, that's it.

Now that I have killed the mood sufficiently, let me explain why I went here. I always attribute the creative side of me to my father and that side of the family's weirdly elaborate brains. When it comes to words, however, both in creating things with them and discovering the world created by them, that's all the property of my mother and her side of the family. And the merger of those two concepts - the creative mind and the power of the word - are a perfect description of me. So, let me point out a few amazing things about how my mother showed my the world of words.

It would be fair to say that books were always a part of my life - our house had plenty of them. However, most of them were antiques, or a showpiece encyclopedia set from 1920 (I am not exaggerating), or something that was meant to be seen and not touched. As far as the "real" books went, that was my mother's real estate. I know my father read on occasion, but I do not actually remember the act of him reading a book. Mom, however, had a book around her somewhere, be it one of the more recent important pieces - The Women's Room by Marilyn French, and I'm Dancing as Fast as I Can by Barbara Gordon are etched in my brain even at a young age - or some book about politics, politicians, or life in general. The way I delineated it, my father had books; my mother knew books. 

And, of course, my mother was the writer in the family. My father was creative, but writing was not his specialty. Mom wrote for a living, and likely wrote more than I will ever truly know. I can't say if she ever tried her hand at narrative, essay, or poetry - journalism was her jam for the most part - but I know that it imprinted upon me how words had their own leverage. When they say, "A lever moves objects, leverage moves people," this demonstrates just how words can bring causes to life and move people to act. When my mother wrote her news stories, like about the teacher's strike in the early 1970s, people responded to that. More to the point, when I went to high school in the early 1980s, a few teachers recognized my last name and brought me aside to tell me they remembered being interviewed by my mother all those years ago. This was all the purpose, the creation, of the journey that is words.

Sadly, I have very few actual written pieces of my mother's work. She was not a packrat like my father was, so her first drafts and clip stories are mostly relegated to history. However, I do have the legacy of words to remember her by, and the knowledge that living in that world of words can be a very special feeling. Whenever I read my older writings (and after I go through a wave of self-criticism), I remind myself that this all goes back to the debt I owe my mother.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!            

The Finished Product

I have talked quite a bit about knowing what  you want to write, how you want to present it, and what constitutes a completed project. There is no definitive way to know when a work is completed - especially a written piece - because there are plenty of stages that go beyond the actual writing. Editing, redrafting, incorporating different ideas - these are all considerations that come with the process of  making a creative work come to life, and it doesn't matter if it's an epic saga or a haiku. They all require hard work, a lot of thought, often some second-guessing, and knowing when it's finally done.

And as I said, nobody will be able to tell you when it's done except for you. A book doesn't have a fixed length, an essay is however long it takes to make a solid point, a short story can be as short as you want (though if it's too long, it wanders into novella territory). The proper length of a story is exactly one story in length, no more and no less. The responsibility you hold is knowing when you've reached that point.

Surprisingly, however, that's not what I want to discuss in this piece. There's a gap between when you finally say, "Done! That's it! Finished!" and when you are able to appreciate your final product. It's a mental debriefing, a post-mortem of sorts where you shift from the position of creator and you get into the space of consumer. At some point, you should be able to look at something you made and simply appreciate the work in front of you for exactly what it is. At that point, you will feel the appreciation of "The Finished Product."

I say this because I recently closed the files on two big projects, and incidentally, I didn't write a word for either of them. I had the privilege of offering advice to Ciara Ward with her new book, Cliché Your Way Through Life: Remix, and just received an inscribed copy of the hardcover. I got to hold in my hands something that I had viewed through the eyes of a copy editor, as a beta reader, and as an objective critic. However, now I see the finished work and all the work she placed into it, and I can appreciate what she created from the position of being a consumer of the written word. In theory, I could look through the book, pick out a chapter, and recall us sitting down to discuss some structural detail. However, those moments are in the past. I can look at this book strictly with a sense of quiet awe about what she created. It's humbling indeed.

The other book is, Our House At The Lake by Sylvester "Lenny" Kapocius. I have mentioned Lenny before - he didn't start writing until the age of ninety, yet still published the story of his life in the Pacific Theater during World War Two. This is his second book, more of a personal memoir, and I just put the wraps on the final edits. Now I can look at this book, and I no longer think about the red ink I smeared over countless pages of copy (along with his son, who also read through it and gave it the red-pen treatment). I think about Lenny's accomplishment of writing a book, completing such a large task to pass on through the generations. I don't see my editing contribution, I see the work of this writer now in my hands. (Incidentally, Lenny turned 100 in January. Age isn't a reason to say you can't start writing.)

I bring all this up because that moment, that time of holding the final copy in your hands, is unlike anything you will be able to perceive while you are creating something. As you build something, you may have a vision of what it will look like after all is said and done, but the real goal should be seeing that moment when you can hold that product in your hands, no longer worry about the editing, rewriting, and so on. It should be a special moment to you, and one you always want to reach.

That's when you know it's done.          

The Word Warehouse

You've likely heard it before. It's the question that a "real" writer is supposed to be able to answer quickly, and that ever-feared question is, "What are you reading right now?" For a lot of people who are legitimate writers, this is a daunting question because reading takes up a lot of time in a very busy day, and our 24/7 lives rarely have room to slide a book in there now and then. However, that doesn't take away anyone's writing credentials. The only thing it really does is creates a backlog of things they need to catch up on in their writing journey.

Now, often after I ask this question to people, they respond with, "Why is it important that I should be reading something?" Early in my writing story I asked the very same thing - I couldn't grasp why other people's writing should affect how I write. I didn't want to be the next Pirsig or King, I wanted to be the first Pressler of literature. Reading how other people did it seemed to waste precious time when I could be writing instead. Then the whole "word warehouse" idea was brought to my attention. 

They say, amongst other things, that the average English-speaking person has a vocabulary of about 25,000 functional or recognizable words. Unfortunately, the average person only uses a tiny fraction of that - not out of some deficit in their knowledge but a general belief that, "I went to the store" is just as good as, "I dashed to the store," "I booked over to the store," "I popped over to the store" or many other alternatives. They don't play with their language, they just use it as a means to an end. As creatives, we should hold ourselves to a higher standard. And in doing so, we need to build up a lot of words to do this. That's where the word warehouse comes into play. 

Take for example the sentence, "I booked over to the store." Odd phrasing, but it comes with a lot of character because it takes a word and plays around with it. In a simple vocabulary, "Book" is a noun and little else. But as we build the warehouse, we have a lot on the shelves under the category of "Book." We would know that "book" gets used as a verb, like to record an entry - to book an expense, or to book a trip. If you book a bet, it can evolve to "bookie," the guy who takes your bet - often outside of the formal legal world - and now the word gets a feeling, something more casual, perhaps seedy. Another angle as a verb is to hurry - to book over to the store before it closes. Now we are in a more casual, lingo-style usage that makes conversations more interesting and multidimensional. As we read, we see these words used in many different contexts, and we start filling up our warehouse - not with a bunch of different words, but with a bunch of different uses. 

The more you read, the more you take in the wild, playful variability of language and how it can be used as a tool not just of explanation but of entertainment. Your writing appeals to more people on different levels, and it gains a new depth - same words, but so much more meaning. So when you get a chance, brush up on your writing skills by doing some reading. (And I am currently reading Wall Street by Richard Roberts along with Gamemasters by Flint Dille.)

      

Can Anyone Write A Story?

I hear it all the time. A conversation turns toward me being a writer, and someone says, "Man, I wish I was a writer like you. I really have some good stories to tell." When I ask why they don't write them down, they almost always come back with, "I'm just not a good writer." If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, well, I would have several dollars. However, none of those dollars would really help that person start on the journey to becoming a writer. I used to tell these people, "Well, why don't you try writing down a story and see what happens?" They never did, which is a shame, because that's literally all it takes to be a writer. Now I try a different approach.

When people have a bunch of good stories to tell but don't think they can be a writer, I now keep a different response in my pocket. If time permits, I say, "Well, tell me one. Whichever one you want." This kind of prompting gets them talking, and they tell me a story about their neighbor with the ferrets, or that time they accidentally set a garbage truck on fire, or the chili fight during sophomore year in high school. Nine times out of ten, they tell a complete story. At that point I thank them for sharing then say, "See? If you had written all that down, it would make you a writer. It's literally that easy." That doesn't always get those people writing, but it's good inspiration.

Now here's the tricky part. Notice how I didn't say, "See? That's how you write a story." It is you who tells a story, and writing it down makes you a writer, but marrying those two into the combo platter of someone writing a story does have a few tricks to it that you only discover once you write down what you say and realize there is a little daylight between saying something and reading what someone says. Fill that gap between the two, and you can write a story.

That gap between telling and writing may seem like a technicality, but there's a lot of verbal storytelling that actually doesn't involve the words themselves. Inflections of tone can make a huge difference. Pacing yourself. The volume of your voice. Accents, dialect, shifting between characters - all critical parts of the verbal storytelling process that can get lost writing things down. And let's not forget that telling a friend a story comes with an array of facial expressions, gestures, raised eyebrow and confused glares that bring a lot to the show. I once saw Marina Franklin do a hilarious bit of stand-up where the closing two minutes was exclusively expression and gesture - not one spoken word - and the piece killed. Writing something like that is what turns a writer into a real wordsmith.

The truths of this piece are relatively simple. First, most people can tell a story, and some can do it well. Second, barring any literacy obstacles, most anyone can be a writer. And the big takeaway is this: fusing those two skills together might take some work and practice, but that's true of most any talent. In the end, you end up being able to write a story. And when someone says, "Man, I wish I was a writer like you," you will realize that you are, in fact, the writer they're taking about.    

My Personal Escape Room

I am sure everyone reading this has heard of an escape room - you get locked in a room for an hour and have to solve a variety of puzzles and riddles in order to discover the way out. According to what I understand from other people, they are pretty fun. According to horror movies, they usually end in a tragic bloodbath. And according to parents of young children, it is an excellent way to not get bothered for one entire hour. I guess it depends on what you want from it. Frankly, I think of an escape room in an entirely different manner.

When I settle down for some writing, that space becomes my escape room. Not the space where I am sitting, but that space between my ears where all the thoughts roam free. In that place, there are a lot of way to interpret the world, to think about what I want to do and how I want to accomplish it. The puzzles, however, are more like challenges of how I reach the goal of creation. How do I get the character from place to place in a natural manner? What is their main moment of realization? Where is the dramatic plot twist? How is the character different at the end of the story? 

Of course, the fun of solving these problems in my little mental escape room isn't the problem-solving, but trying to do all this while the phone rings, emails from work pop up, thoughts about my other errands zip through my brain, the cats chase each other throughout the house, and so forth. (This is the part where parents of young children can surely relate). How is it even possible to complete these masterful puzzles of writing when the rest of the world won't stop?

This is, of course, where I once again mention the important of dedicated space for writing - be it a couch, an office desk, a Starbuck's during the slow time, or whatever works. The chaos of the mind calms down when the writer takes as much control of the environment as possible. I am not ashamed to admit that while working on an upcoming novel (working title: Gods of the Gaps), I got out the catnip and let my dear kitties get stoned in the bedroom. Controlling the outside world makes the mental escape room easier to manage.

And for those of us who have a hectic mental process, perhaps with about a dozen thoughts bouncing around while we try to focus on a transition scene, somewhere in your writing space should be a notepad. Nothing fancy, nothing major. This is a simple technique to capture thoughts much in the same way your writing captures ideas and impresses them into a story. If you can't stop thinking about the five errands you need to run, the four chores you need to do, the three people you need to call, the two loads of laundry that won't clean themselves, and the one thing you just can't quite remember, then just start writing your story. When one of those things pops into your head, write the task on the notepad and say, "I will get to that," then go back to writing. It may sound silly, but when your wandering thoughts are placed on that notepad, they calm down. Just like children screaming for attention, responding with, "Shut up!" rarely makes things better. Writing down a note is like telling the screaming child, "I hear you, your needs are important to me, and when I finish this, I will take care of your needs." (Or give them some catnip)

My mental escape room is a great place to write in - the puzzles are always there, the riddles never stop pouring in, and I know they're all solvable if I dedicate enough time to them. And, hopefully, I leave the escape room at some point with a finished work - Gods of the Gaps, to appear in a bookstore near you in the next few years.       

Word Play

Here's a simple question: When you say the capital of Kentucky, are you supposed to pronounce it as "Louisville" with the 's' emphasized, or should you say it as "Louie-ville"? The answer: You should say it as, "Frankfort," because that's the capital of Kentucky. Kind of a silly little joke, but admittedly, the first time I was told this, I fell for it. I also answered, "Louie-ville" in case anyone was wondering. And as silly as it is, you will remember this little bit of word play.

In one of my more popular posts entitled, "The Tigers of Africa," I got a lot of snap feedback from people who clearly did not read the post. To a person, the snap-responders were quick to correct me that there were no tigers in Africa, and yes, a few people challenged those comments and some fighting broke out - as is wont to happen on social media. The humorous part of this response is how telling it was. The post itself was actually quick to point out that tigers do not exist in Africa, but when people jump to conclusions from the first words they read rather than investigating the subject, problems emerge. In writing, we can have fun with this.

Let's pretend I am writing a sword & sorcery story, with the setting of a tavern in a busy city. A large, strong, smelly barbarian walks in, draped in the skins and furs of recent kills. The barbarian demands a drink, yells for the minstrel to play some joyous music, then proceeds to get drunk on the house ale. There's the telling of epic tales of past conquests, maybe a fight breaks out, tables are overturned, chairs broken, and the barbarian makes a drunken wreck of the place before staggering into the streets, ready to find another tavern for some entertainment. After hours of drinking and song, the staggering barbarian finally falls into the arms of a young courier boy, who takes the brave warrior to a comfortable cot for a night's pleasant sleep - and that's how the young courier boy first fell in love with the barbarian.

Quite the story, but the end is a little... unexpected. Probably did not see that part coming. Maybe the reader customarily does not expect barbarians to fall in love, or maybe the twist with the young courier boy was an unexpected turn. But tell me this - at any point did you think the barbarian was a woman? Chances are, the expectation of the reader is that the loud, drunken pile of violence that was the barbarian came off as rather masculine, and the reader makes a quick assumption. Everything written thereafter plays to that assumption - no gender pronouns are used, no designations whatsoever. This allows the reader to build upon their assumption and even create things about the barbarian that are not actually described. Then, when the veil is lifted and the reader realizes something was very different, they remember the whole adventure they had been on, and hopefully how they built assumptions into the character they generated in their mind.

This might seem like a mean thing to do to the reader, but as long as the writer's intentions are to engage the reader on a deeper level and not just say, "Ha! Gotcha!" then it's a perfectly valid writing technique. And as I have said many times, any time you can get the reader that deeply engaged with the character, then you know you've got them right where you want them.          

Today's Word is Polymath

Every now and then I am asked at a writing workshop just what I did before writing took over my life. This question usually comes from someone who thinks I have been a lifelong writer. Imagine their surprise when I say, "Well, before I went deep into creative writing, I spent my career as an international economist, and before that I was a graphic designer and a production director at a Chicago newspaper." They don't exactly know how those things add up - how can someone be creative, and also some financial guy, and also a production director (whatever that is)? My answer is simple: Why not?

There's this concept called polymathy - a term with more than one interpretation, but in general it's anyone who knows a lot of different things and can apply them in different ways. The term, "polymath" is usually used to describe a person in a positive, even honorary manner, but I don't see it that way. I see it as a much simpler term that describes someone who pursues different things, explores different avenues of thought and knowledge, and incorporates all of it into their way of thinking.

Just like a good writer should.

If there's one thing I have learned from different writing workshops and groups, it's that writers come in all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life, and from every background imaginable. There are people who have amazingly creative minds that just naturally become writers, there are technical people who explore the world beyond the straight lines, rules-driven people who deeply feel the conflicting forces within any situation, and wildly open souls who will latch on to anything. These writers become essayists, novelists, biographers, researchers, poets, literary teachers, and maybe even production directors (whatever that is), all because they do not frame themselves within a specific set of boundaries. They explore the world, they collect information and translate it through their different voices. They are the true polymaths.

In this regard, a writer can do the same thing within that one craft. Some people love writing poetry, so that becomes their jam. They write poems and they write them well, but they never explore outside that space, never take on a new subject. And, of course, there are writers who prefer short stories but never explore poetry, or longer-form storytelling, or essays or anything else. They confine themselves. Don't get me wrong - these people can become great at what they do. However, they miss a great opportunity to spread out, to try things and take chances, to go out there and be more than just an essayist, a poet, a story writer, or a production director (whatever that is). And that's the secret - when a poet starts writing stories or essays, the knowledge they gain can make them a better poet. 

As I mentioned, the polymath is one who explores a variety of fields and synthesizes that information into a greater body of knowledge. They usually are great with similes and metaphors because they are filled with parallel examples explaining different features of life. The writing polymath is the same way. Their stories have almost a poetic, lyrical cadence to them because they recognize how such a technique can enhance the story. Their essays are engrossing because they use techniques reserves for storytellers. They incorporate this broad wealth of knowledge, often unknowingly, into everything they do, and it shows.

In short, this is little more than another plea to the writing community to try new things. Write an essay, an autobiographical story, a poem. Play with words, go outside your comfort zone and try new formats. Write a play if you want - just try these things and learn the lessons they can teach you. Maybe writing a play won't make you an amazing playwright, but it can help you become a more tuned-in poet, or a deeper storyteller, or, possibly, a more productive production director (whatever that is).      

The Most Difficult Battle

"When the facts change, I change my mind."  

- possibly John Maynard Keynes

This is a simple quote stating something which, at face value, is pretty obvious - new information should bring us to new conclusions. When we start putting together all the evidence suggesting there is no Santa Claus, we adapt our view of things. When some of life's deeper complexities are revealed, we grow along with what we've learned. This is the simple process of maturing, of growing up and seeing the world differently. Most everyone does this without even thinking. However, what if it wasn't that easy? What if the new information completely changed everything? Well, that's going to create some internal conflict. And that's what great stories are made of.

Put yourself in this position: you find out that some mythical creature like a leprechaun, a unicorn, or a fairy exists. Or perhaps you discover that some fictional land like Narnia, Westeros, or Estonia is actually a real place. How easy is it for you to accept that? How does your mind start spinning if you stumble across a leprechaun in the woods, sleeping on his pot of gold? You might think it's just some Irish fellow taking a nap by a tree, right? The fact that he's shimmering in green light and two feet tall might not be enough to convince you he's a leprechaun because they don't exist, right? Even if he wakes up, admits to you that he's a leprechaun and you can either have his gold or he could grant you a wish, would you buy into any of this?

Humans generally don't yield their beliefs easily, which is a great source for the most critical ingredient in any good story - conflict. Often, people think of conflict as fights and car chases, but at its core it is when two competing interests clash - in this case, knowing there is no such thing as a leprechaun yet standing before one in the Irish flesh. This becomes a battle of reality - how easily does this person give in to the new facts, or how much resistance is offered? This is a challenge that hopefully does not resolve easily, in part because we can carry the story along on the coattails of this kind of conflict.

Of course, this kind of "reality versus experience" conflict doesn't have to be mythical. What if a character meets some old guy who tells them he is their real father? What about that moment where two parents tell their only child that he's adopted? Reality-shattering moments such as those force the character to confront a new set of information, often at the expense of everything they believed. 

If the "real parent" story is too dramatic, here's a simple one: a character finds out they have cancer. Anyone who has heard those words from across the doctor's desk knows the immediate doubts flying through their mind. Could there have been a mistake? Are you sure? What about a second opinion? Of course, the tension doubles if the doctor says, "We need to determine if this is cancerous." Now the character exists between two worlds - wanting to not have cancer but facing a very possible future with the dreaded disease. This kind of tension is easily the most gripping to the reader, because they clearly want the character to be healthy but worry about that possibility disappearing in the worst way. When the reader has that type of buy-in to the story, you have them right where you want them.

Always look to highlight what makes a story challenging when you approach it. What are the hurdles? What challenges lie ahead? And most importantly, what is the character fighting to overcome? This is the battle readers are drawn to; it's the cornerstone of any good story.       

Know When to Say When

Even though this blog is primarily about writing and the things that help you refine all those little things that make you better at your craft, any regular reader knows it goes well outside those boundaries. I also mention my pets, my bicycling habits, my terrible knees, and other non-writing facets of my life. And yet, somehow, I manage to bring them all back together to somehow relate to writing. Don't believe me? Well, today I am going to talk about writing, but start with my March Madness brackets.

To be fair, referring to my college picks as a bracket sheet does not really do it justice. Brackets are these well-structured, possibly symmetrical setups used to carefully simulate the path to the NCAA championship. What I possess is a ramshackle collection of crossed-out names and blown predictions, with very few actual picks having come through for me. It doesn't look like a bracket sheet as much as a corrective lesson for those people who want to venture into bracketology. I'm not in last place in my group, but thanks to Wisconsin losing, it will take a miracle to keep me out of the cellar.

Now, if bracket life has taught me anything, it's that there comes a point where you just need to let it go. You just have to accept that you made your picks, they were the best you could come up with, and the rest was now in the skilled hands of 64 college basketball team (well, 63 skilled teams and then Wisconsin). There are many opportunities for second-guessing, for last-minute changes, for creating multiple sheets, and for testing different ways you could've gone, but at the end of the day, you make your choices then live or die with those calls. It's pretty simple in the end, though it doesn't prevent a lot of people from watching the games, rooting for a college they've never even heard of, and thinking somehow this effort will push them into the Final Four. It won't. That's not how life works.

With our writing, it's just like that bracket sheet, except we don't have to finish our story by Thursday at ten in the morning. We can go back to our story and rewrite a scene, or punch up some dialogue, or add some description. We can add a scene or drop a character, incorporate a deeper mood or try it in any number of ways. Some ways might feel better, others might be regrettable, and many won't really make a difference. However, if we do this enough, we will lose track of what our original purpose of writing this thing was. At some point we just need to say, "It's done." We need to put a wrap on it, save the fine, print a copy for posterity, and move on. As some point we have to hand in our bracket sheet and just take it from there

When I think about the creative rethink we all go through, I do go back to my father's art easel. There was one canvas he constantly worked on - his white whale of paint. He had gone through several ideas, changed it any number of times, and redid the theme and design more times than I would ever know. That work was thick with acrylic, but he never quite got it right (in his opinion). He died before he could call it finished, though if anyone looked at it they would not know it was incomplete. It is a wonderful work of art hanging in my brother's house, and people compliment it often. To him, however, he could never get it right, nor did he know just when to say when. That was his bracket sheet, his incomplete story. And from that I learned that sometimes you just need to know when any more work is just spinning your wheels, and as a creative type. it's time to move on.

And let's just hope Michigan State and Florida make it to the Final Four...

      

Writing in the Goldilocks Zone

We all know the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. This porridge is too hot, that porridge is too cold, but the third one was just right, and so it goes with Goldilocks indulging in all the comforts of the home of the Three Bears. Setting aside the question about bears being technically advanced enough to run a household, make porridge, and acquire bear-appropriate furnishings, our takeaway from this is all about finding something that is just right - not too hot, not too cold. Odd takeaway that it may be - a better lesson might be, "Don't take things that aren't yours, especially from wild animals," - it leads me to discuss some things about moderation in writing.

There is a very common tip offered to all beginning writers - "show don't tell" - which is ingrained into our being. In short, it means we shouldn't say, "The abandoned house looked scary" or have a character say, "Wow, that abandoned house looks scary" when we have the opportunity to describe it in a scary manner, such as, "The abandoned house loomed in the evening fog, the broken windows above the main entrance staring like dark eyes gazing down as the shadowy front entrance, doors broken from their hinges, gaped open as if uttering a terrible curse upon all who gazed upon it.". Descriptions help set moods and create atmosphere. However, it is too easy to start letting all our description start walking all over the reason our readers showed up - the actual story.

Have you ever been reading a story, and at a certain point the author breaks rhythm to describe, in intimate detail, the workings of an M-16A2 rifle, the protocol for using warp engines in interstellar space, or the taxonomy of a particular breed of dragon? Sure - with a book about war, space travel, or dragons (respectively), there's valuable information to be gained from this. However, when this is done at the expense of the story, it is called exposition - the introduction of information in the middle of a story, a.k.a. an infodump. This is too much information in one large chunk, and often a curse upon most works. However, the opposite of this is just the assumption that everyone just knows that the M16A2 was only adopted in 1983 as a response to the lessons learned from the M16A1's use in Vietnam, or that warp engines should be limited in use once the craft reached a solar system's heliopause, or that the scales of a blue dragon do not conduct electricity. We need to find our "just right" space where characters show these aspects without telling them to each other in dialogue infodumps, and the reader deduces through actions and verbal cues all of this info. Balance is necessary to keep the flow of the story continuing.

Another need for moderation comes with dialogue. As I have mentioned before, plenty of our spoken words are grammatically imperfect, our spoken sentences incomplete and fragmented, and our trains of thought often sidetracked. To write dialogue accurately turns out to be a messy affair, and often makes people sound far less literate than they actually are. However, if dialogue is written to grammatic perfection, it doesn't sound right. It sounds rigid, stilted, and frankly all the characters start sounding the same because nobody really speaks that much differently than the other." Moderation cleans this up to where a little stuttering, one character using works such as "like" and "kinda" and "y'all" suddenly makes all the difference. We need to moderate our writing between the perfect and the good.

So, where is the ideal point of moderation? Well, that's why we write - we experiment, we discover, and we bring new ideas to the table. Try out different styles, run sections past other readers, and listen to how other people discuss certain subjects. We only find out through trial and error whether the porridge is too hot or too cold, which often means putting your writing out there for others to critique. Then and only then will you find your feel for what is "just right."

And hopefully you do not get torn apart by bears, who are at their core, wild animals that will kill you and eat you without a concern about your opinion about their porridge.       

The Artificial Intelligence Takeover

For those of you who might fear its approach, let me assure you, AI will not be replacing writers any time soon. That being said, I will play it safe and be the first to say I eagerly anticipate my new AI developmental editor. I do not have one, nor do I anticipate getting one, but within the next ten years I wager I could find a good shareware editor utilizing AI for most of my writing needs. Hopefully it will mostly make sure I use the proper version of a homonym and steer clear of the passive voice, but the things they can do is kind of surprising. And yes, a little scary.

Here's a simple writing prompt for you: Write a fifty-word poem about some specific topic, such as death (I will explain that one in a minute). Once you have it the way you want it, compare it with this:

In shadows deep, where silence lies,
The cold winds whisper, mournful sighs.
A fleeting breath, a final glow,
As time slips by, too fast to know.

Yet in the dark, a spark remains,

For death, though still, does break the chains.

A quiet end, yet life sustains.

Now, that poem above is an untitled work written by ChatGPT. Is it good? Bad? Hard to say? You be the judge - then consider that this was written by an AI faster than I could write the prompt, "write a 50 word poem about death." Hard to say how good it is, but it definitely is fast.

Now personally, I like it as a poem but it isn't really about death, is it? When you break it down, it's not really that great - the metaphors don't quite click, the deeper meaning is kind of absent. It's definitely a nice way to cheat on your poetry class homework, but probably not much more than that. And that's what we need to think about as writers when we create a product - what makes it more than just the answer to a question?

The easy solution to this is that we need to reach a personal place where we delve into something a computer cannot fathom. We need to find some piece of our own experience - not just an event or some quality, but a genuine insight that will tattoo our writing with something that is indelibly our own. When someone puts down that piece of writing, they should know a little more about how the writer's mind works and why their heart beats.

Now, to be clear, this isn't just a poetry thing. If you write about a guy running to catch his plane, what can you do to inject your own experience and insight into it? Is there something you can add that will make people say, "Yes, I know that feeling," and connect with the story? We can write about that ritual we might do when we are running late and we study the clock, trying to map out just how many minutes we need to get us to a certain landmark, or how much time we might save by taking a different route. Perhaps we discuss the constant math in our head calculating just how many minutes late we will be, and whether or not that is manageable. At that point, it becomes personal. It becomes real to anyone running late who studies their watch, trying to trim three seconds here and there all while preparing their apology for why they were late. That's a story.

Yes, I also put in a prompt, "write a 200-word story about Steve missing his plane," (I remembered the hyphen this time) and got a story that did, in fact, satisfy the prompt. However, it wasn't a satisfying story for the reason I mentioned above. We have this great ability to inject ourselves into our creativity, so we should do it any time we can. If we don't, we are cheating ourselves and our audience of a rewarding experience.

(Side note: If my editor for this piece is, in fact, an AI bot, I mean no offense to your kind, only wish the best for you and your future versions, and look forward to many fruitful years of cooperation.)     

Finding "The Zone"

My brothers are very far apart in their fields of talent, but there is a surprising common denominator with them. One's an artist, one's a mechanic. They both apply their gift through their hands, but their processes are very different: one creates while the other analyzes and troubleshoots. Both are very talented in their craft, though they each possess a very different set of skills. However, when they are performing at the height of their powers, they are very much the same. They will get this look on their face that our current language cannot explain, and I know at that very moment, they are in "the Zone."   

I don't claim to have superpowers (though if I did, I would not reveal them to the public), but I do have an uncanny sense of vision. Not sight, which is bad in my case, but vision. I can see when someone is so deep into a process that they are outside their sense of self and are in "the Zone." When my brother (it doesn't matter which one) gets into a project, if he is working without distraction, I can see him connecting to it in a way that defies normal sight. The intensity in the area rises, the air calms, and for that moment I can sense they are in that space. To them, my presence is nothing more than, as sung by Pink Floyd, "a distant ship, smoke on the horizon." They have entered the Zone where they are, for lack of a better term, at one with their project. Their mind is processing and anticipating, seeing things on a level I can't comprehend, but I watch them with my special vision, and allow myself to feel a certain sense of awe.

Now, I am not one to brag, but I happen to know what it's like to be in the Zone as well. More to the point, I know how to get there as a writer. Kind of.

I could never tell you when I am in the Zone - not in the moment anyway. If you grab my head while I am "there" and turn me to face you and ask why I'm not answering you, I would say, "Sorry, I was in the Zone," but I probably never heard you talk, and I am likely only sorry that you interrupted me. In writing, as I assume it is with other skills, entering the Zone is exiting the world of personal hang-ups, of social media and deadlines, and existing in the sole pursuit of that particular craft. Your mind, your eyes, your fingers, are nothing more than functions of writing. It's like going one-hundred miles per hour yet feeling like sitting still. It's amazing. It's rare. And it's a practice that's very much deliberately achievable.

How do you get there? Obviously, practice. However, some things develop your discipline faster. For example: If you give yourself a dedicated time, place, and ritual for writing, don't let it get disrupted and don't interfere with the patterns. Patterns make our process flow easier, so be brutally consistent. Also, give yourself opportunities to write about things you are totally passionate about - noting that passion should be something you can engage deeply about, and not just things that trigger you. Sometimes, writing about intensely emotional things such as politics, religion, personal trauma and tragedy, and so on can keep so much of the outside world sparking off in our mind that we don't fully move into our writing mind. Write about those things that, when you think about them deeply, you fade from the world. It might sound like daydreaming, but when we get lost in thought there's a reason. We disconnect from the outside world because we are thinking about something close to our core being. Writing about those things can draw us closer to that inner space and the Zone.

And, not that this has to be said, but never try and ask yourself, "Am I in the Zone?" If you can ask that, you aren't. If you're almost there, you aren't anymore. The Zone is a place of being the moment, not questioning or challenging, neither wanting nor regretting, but just being. If this sounds strangely like meditation, well, in many ways it is, and there are a lot of parallels. But for now let's just say that you will discover many amazing things about yourself when you are in the Zone, but you won't realize them until after the fact. However, you will know when you have been there, and you will have a better idea how to go there again. And the more you do it, the easier it becomes. Kind of like meditation.            

Writer Hang-Ups

About twenty-five years ago, a set of words - four to be exact - came to my father's mind that was so pure, so devoid of cynicism, so honest, that he knew that if he were ever to write a book, this would be its title. He told me this almost as a confession, as if not wanting to say it too loud lest someone else take his idea for their own. He said, "I would call it, 'The Book of Hours.'" It sounds like one of those names with an air of intrigue, a little mystery, but more of an insightful introspection about the world than anything else. It was, in fact, a good name for some book. I felt bad telling his that the Catholic Church beat him to it, using that name to refer to books containing various prayers, etc. He was, to say the least, disappointed, but he still loved the name.

Twenty-five years later, I came up with my own perfect book title, and fortunately knew it was already a phrase so I wasn't in for any disappointment. The next WIP (work in progress) for me will be titled, "The God of Empty Spaces." Brilliant, right? Intriguing, mysterious, introspective, all that. Yes, the term is used in religion, and yes, the term is used in science as well, and many people debate what the phrase actually means. As for me, however, I am taking that title and running with it.

All I need now is characters, a setting, and a plot... Hmmm...

This is my personal hang-up as a writer - snapping onto words or phrases and trying to turn them into something (a trait I apparently inherited from my father). It is very true that any written piece of work is full of words, therefore they better be good ones, and any title is at least one word with some meaning. However, as a rule, I don't write about words, but rather ideas, concepts, moral challenges and the like. The ideas can read like a Mad-Lib: "What happens to a (occupation) when they find out that (some simple fact) is actually (opposite of the fact)?" Now that's the proper building point for a story (and I am already getting ideas). However, a phrase might stick in my head and now I want to find a story to fit with, "The God of Empty Spaces" instead of write a story that inspires me then find a title for it.

Oh - here's another good hang-up that I see writers fall for. They take that little Mad-Lib sentence and just start spitting out events - things and stuff that can result. They think, "What happens to a fireman who finds out dragons are real?" and start writing about a fireman, a dragon, and a bunch of wild things that happen like draconic episodes of I Love Lucy. Well, those are adventures, but where's the story? Where's the conflict and tension? It qualifies as telling stories but without those story elements, it's just BOSH writing (Bunch of Stuff Happens). 

We all have our hang-ups - the things that prevent us from doing the big project we want to do. Sometimes they're writing hang-ups, sometimes they're personal hang-ups ("I can't write a whole book..."), sometimes they're just our little fears and anxieties come to life in bad habits that distract us from greater things. And how do we identify them? Well, when we find ourselves eager to work on a project but for some reason not actually writing it, we're probably hung up on something. In those cases, write down the hang-up, say it out loud, and promise to do something else. Some other hang-up might appear afterward, but just repeat the previous process, then start getting to your story.

If worst comes to worst, comment me on your hang-up, and I will write you a personal prescription on how to get over it. Until that time, just keep on writing.

More Dirty Words

A number of years ago, I posted, "Dirty Words (Even Worse Than Swearing)," where I discussed words we use which are offensive to basic writing. This was mostly about using the passive voice in the narrative, excessive flavoring words, and wishy-washy words, but this is a very deep well of a subject. So, in that spirit, I would like to bring up even dirtier words, mostly because they need to be exposed for what they are.

"Suddenly" - This one is particularly offensive not in an obvious way but because of what it tries to do. Starting a sentence with "suddenly" (or its hideous cousin, "all of the sudden") is a real drama fiend; it tries to create a sense of action when the action is already obvious, or intensify something when the content should make it obvious. Saying, "Suddenly, the car exploded..." is nice, but it's cheap. Does a car explode in any other manner than a sudden one? Just leading with "The car exploded..." gets things done, or if you want to be more engaging, put it reference to a character rather than the explosion itself. "Tom flew back as the car exploded twenty feet in front of him, broken glass raining down..." Now you have your explosion, but you look at it from the effect, not the event. "Suddenly" is really weak, and can cheapen the writing when used improperly.

"Almost" - I don't like adding this to the Dirty Words list, but it makes the list because it is often co-opted by weaker writers rather than used as a progression. "With his fingers almost reaching the key, Steve forced his shoulder between the barred gate for that extra inch of distance." This is a good use of almost, and should be recommended. Sinful writers, however, go with the, "Tom almost fell off the curb but caught himself at the last second..." use. In short, the dirty use of "almost" is to say something almost happened, but didn't. We hear it a lot in everyday discussion: "I almost threw up from that meal (but I didn't)." "I was so sick I almost died (but I didn't)." "I almost became a doctor (but I didn't)." In dialogue, it's natural, but more engaging writing avoids such things in the narrative and elaborates on what did happen, not what didn't.

"Like" - I've brought this one up before but it deserves a little refresher. The use of "like" has plenty of good uses, mostly as a verb. "He liked his toast dry." That's fine. As a simile it works as well: "The toast was dry like the Mojave Desert." However, this is where we often slip up and rely on it to explain the sentence. I often use the sentence, "The house looked like an orphanage from a Dickens novel." We let "like" set the stage, and it takes us off the hook from doing more, such as, "The house was a run-down, Dickensian orphanage." Describe what it is and stick to it, and don't lean on things such as "like" to point out that it's not exactly what you said it is. Let the assumption fill in the spaces.

Yes, there are plenty of other candidates on my Dirty Words list, and some are more offensive to writing than others. If you think you might be using (or overusing) one, ask yourself, "Is this word adding something new to the discussion, is it repeating some other piece of information, or is it contradicting something?" If it's doing something other than adding something new, it's probably on the Dirty Words list. (Or it should be.)           

Kaizen, Improv, and Writing

Now that I have had ample time to recover the strength and dexterity in the hand I broke last month, I am feeling back in a writing frame again, and thought it would be best to just jump right in with some subjects that might not make any sense together. First and foremost, we will talk about the ancient Japanese art of kaizen. (Full disclosure: it's not an ancient art.)

From Japanese, kaizen translates into virtuous change, but might be more commonly known in business circles as the practice of continuous improvement. The corporate world applied kaizen vigorously once it realizes how well it worked for Japanese businesses, and it became the norm for every business community - the constant, non-stop drive to improve a situation. While this has been applied in many different ways in Wall Street, my use of this is a little more mundane. I have the belief that if today can end with things better than they were when I woke up, then I have done well. Therefore, my goal to do well in life should be to make sure that the world is better at 10 p.m. than it was at 6 a.m. in some special way. Maybe it's because I finished my spring cleaning, or because I put in some time helping my community, or just made a few people happy - whatever the case is, by applying kaizen, things improve.

Of course, this leading into improv might sound like improv is shorthand for improvement. Nope, just a coincidence. Improv is improvisation, and in this case, improvisational comedy. I took a big old step forward and went to my first improv class yesterday. It was a variety of people, and I'm pretty sure they all had much more experience than I did. However, it wasn't a contest, it was a class, and I was there to learn. Therefore, I gladly embraced my role as least-experienced performer in the room, and I learned things. I performed. I made a fool of myself voluntarily. I did some things wrong, I did some things right. I laughed, I learned, and had a great time. And when I walked away for the evening, my creative mind tumbled about with wild, fantastical thoughts about all the possible things improv could do. And in my back pocket, I now knew that I was a little closer to developing some capacity to use such tools. I got home better than I was when I left. Kaizen.

The natural landing point for all of this is, of course, how this applies to writing. No, it might not seem like a natural fit, but it very much is. Anything we do to flex our creative muscles will invariably show up in our writing, even if we don't write a word. If we learn a little game that gets us out of our self-conscious space and into a more open, creative state of mind, our writing flows that much more freely. If we watch people completely immerse themselves in a character or an idea, it can inspire us to emulate what those people do and start living in a space other than our own. If we can see the wild amounts of creativity all around us and bring even a piece of that into ourselves, we're the better for it.

Ultimately, it's all about that Japanese business practice of kaizen, but targeted toward just being a more open, creative, accepting individual. The more we practice this, the more we can create and give to the world as our gift of writing. And yes, in the long-run, things do improve. 

Kaizen - look it up, then live it out.     

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yes, it's true. Today I turn another year older. There's no big bonus for my new age - it's not a milestone age like turning 21 or 30 or 50 - so no big thing there. I don't even think I gain any bonus senior discounts. However, while I do gain tons of adoration from my many friends, there's one thing I always give myself time for on my birthday. It is a great time to do a little self-inventory, and a part of that for me as a writer is to look over everything I have written (in a broader sense). This type of recognition is strictly for my own personal satisfaction; to see how many miles I put under my shoes as a writer. I don't compare them year-to-year to see if I am slowing down or speeding up. As a writer (and as a person in general), the only important part is moving forward.

So, what are my tallies as a writer for the past 366 days? Well, I attended 63 workshops in one form or another - that works out to a little more than one a week, mostly in the evening, about 120 hours of writing practice and inspiration. If you look at that kind of activity over the past 15 years of workshopping (I've done it for longer than that, but 15 keeps the math simple), that's 1,800 hours of workshopping - discussions, dissections, challenging and being challenged by other writers, listening to some great works and some that I discovered weren't all that great, and the occasional drinks afterward, pizza-related gatherings, and so forth. If you want to be a writer, chalking up the workshop hours is important.

I have written 71 short stories of wildly varying quality since my last birthday, and it is no small feat to do so. Some were assignments of barely 300 words, the largest about twenty pages. Most are first drafts; ideas that just needed to be put somewhere other than my brain. Some are psychological purges, others just playful romps. However, they all carry their own value and they've made a difference on my adventure as a writer. I have reached that point where someone can bring up a weird idea or concept, and I will immediately think about how it can become a story. A thought recently (like three minutes ago) bounced into my head - "The Last Lighthouse on Earth" - and now I want to throw down some ideas for just what would make that a great little story, character sketch, or whatever.

I've taken on a few editing projects and helped fellow authors get published since last February, which I secretly love. A part of it is that I find a quiet thrill when the author pays for my editing with an envelope stuffed with cash. However, I really get the most enjoyment from putting some polishing on someone else's work. It gives me a chance to see it up close, study its little details, and borrow some of those concepts to hone my own craft. (After all, all writers are scavengers.) In that regard, it's not work, it's a soothing meditation about getting writing just perfect.

And lastly, I have written 77 blog posts since the last birthday popped up. Full confession: I do this in part for myself. Don't get me wrong - I have fans who love my writing and they are a big reason why I write, but they're not the only reason. As I have mentioned before, everything I write is a part of building up my writing process, exercising my writing muscles, and exploring a little deeper into the chaotic, crazed mind of my inner creativity to pull out the occasional nugget of sanity. You just get the luxury (or burden) of reading it.

So, I am another year older, a little bit wiser, and my keyboard is a little more beaten up (yes, I wear out keyboards). And looking back on the past year, I can honestly say that I don't have any real writing-related regrets. The only one that might count is recently breaking my hand, but only because it really stomped on the quality of my typing for the past few weeks.

Anyway - Happy Birthday to Me! (And it's National Random Acts of Kindness Day, so there's that too.)       

A Sonnet For My Love (of writing)

For Valentine's Day, I can think of no better theme than something along the lines of poetry - particularly, the sonnet. As far as writing goes, no form of poem is quite as intertwined with romance as the sonnet. Sure, limericks are fun and to the point, haiku have a beautiful simplicity, and sometimes a simple, "Roses are red..." poem is enough to make the point. However, when it comes to showing one's romantic interest without coming off too obsessive, the sonnet hits that sweet spot to win over someone's heart. And when it comes to sonnets, nobody could drop a rhyme quite like William Shakespeare.

Now, before we get into W.S. and his involvement with the sonnet, let's set some ground rules for what actually makes a sonnet. This structure of poetry has been around for at least 800 years in their current form and possibly more if other cultures are considered, but they really took off when they hit Europe, and someone realized this was the right size for a romantic poem. At that point, the royal courts all wanted to have the magical formula for the perfect sonnet.

I won't dive into more about kings and princes using poetry to romance their interests - let's just accept that as read and figure out what a sonnet is. In general, it's a 14-line poem, made up of three four-line stanzas and a two-line closer, and the typical rhyme scheme is ABAB CDCD EFEF GG (the first and third lines rhymed with each other, the second and fourth rhymed, the fifth and seventh, etc., then the two closing lines rhymed with each other). Rhyme schemes have varied, and the meter can be played with in many ways, but that's the basic layout. As to the content, the sonnet needs to start off as a question, problem, or situation, discussed over the first 6-8 lines, then resolving itself in the final lines. Some forms have the feature of a six-line dilemma, a two-line "turn" that shifts the problem toward resolution, then a six-line solution. Whew - that's a lot of work to get a date.

Now, interestingly enough, sonnets don't actually have to do about romance, just like a haiku doesn't have to be about nature and a limerick doesn't have to be about a guy from Nantucket. This is interesting because, getting back to our friend Mr. Shakespeare, he is quite well-known for writing over 150 sonnets, yet his big collection was not necessarily just packed full of romance. Check out Sonnet 130 for an example. If Shakespeare put this in a Valentine's Day card, he might've spent the night on the couch.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare.

Now, this isn't romantic by any stretch, but damn does it paint a vivid picture of this lady to whom he is bonded to. This isn't the "lady on a pedestal" style of sonnets that people write to praise their love, but rather a very effective descriptive tool for shaping out someone as dramatically human. It's a sonnet made for capturing a person and his tie to her, for better or worse.

So, if you ever want to give a wild shot at something, try writing a sonnet about someone. Let them inspire you, then just write about them in that ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyme scheme. They never have to read it, so never let that hold you back. But flex that creative muscle, and see what happens. You might really create a winning piece. And, as Shakespeare might've once said, "Chicks dig sonnets."         

The Rites of Spring

On February 2nd, we got to see a lot of footage of a groundhog telling us when spring would arrive. It's very cute and entertaining, but hardly scientific and wildly misleading. Furthermore, a lot of people have their own way of determining when spring is arriving. In meteorological terms, it's March 1st every year because it's easier to remember. Other people say it's after they see the first robin of the year. Some people place it at Easter. And all those people who've been corrupted by science and believe in what the shills from Big Calendar say, it's March 20th this year. However, they're all wrong since spring officially arrives when pitchers and catchers arrive at spring training, which started yesterday. Therefore, spring is here. Don't be fooled by the thermometer, or vernal equinoxes, or Big Calendar or those snowstorms heading toward Chicago - it's spring and we should enjoy it.

Now, as I see the pitchers and catchers for the Cubs starting to warm up and get into shape (aside from the Dodgers, the other 28 teams don't technically start spring training until next week), it means time to start the spring habits. This again differs wildly for people. For some, it means spring cleaning. For others, time to change the smoke detector batteries and get out the lawn gear (maybe after those snowstorms pass through). For me as a writer, it means time to get into some new habits, and spring is the perfect time for them.

Plenty of people might say they decided what new habits they would get into at the beginning of the year, kind of like a new resolution thing. Well, first, how's that working for you? But seriously, everyone has the time they dedicate for starting new things, and I choose the freshness of the coming spring to put me into motion. Yes, I may still be wearing layers and shoveling my driveway as I do them, but it doesn't mean they are any less valid. Here are the things I am dedicating as a writer to put into gear, and some things I will definitely check off the list:

• Write a poem of no less than 200 words
• Do some big rewriting of some old but publishable ideas
• Finish the groundwork for two other books that need to hit the next drafting stage
• Do my first draft on a new project

Those are the things I have on the list that relate to writing, and they speak for themselves. They are missions I have set out to do because they will settle my inner writer's tensions and anxieties, which will therefore free up some energies for the actual creative process. And on that note, I offer the reminder that anything that relieves tension or anxiety will free up energies, so I offer a few bonus things that will help me be creative even though they are not directly writing-related:

• Finally go to that improv class (nothing exercises the creative muscles like improv)
• Get the back rim to my off-road bike repaired (cycling puts me at ease)
• Spread my mother's ashes (this, while very freeing, is actually also a baseball thing. #IYKYK)

And now that spring is officially here, I have every reason to get myself in motion and begin all those things that come with the renewal and awakening of springtime. As a writer, I have a lot to do, and as a creative, I have habits to build, both to be done in this new season. Amidst the warmer temperatures, the budding leaves, and the longer days, I can sum up my feelings about springtime's rebirth in two simple words: PLAY BALL!     

Pyramids and Snakes

If there's one thing my dear, departed friend Ranaa taught me about Egypt, it's this: Pyramids are big. Even the little ones - pretty big. Now, to be fair, it doesn't take a native of Cairo to understand that little fact about pyramids. However, it is one of those things that she said you couldn't really appreciate it until you are there experiencing it for yourself. Only then do you realize the grandeur and complexity of something that some might write off as just a large pile of stones. Nope. It's a pyramid of surprising mathematical intricacy, and it's big.

Now, here's what got me thinking about this. There are two structures you can follow when you are writing - the snake pattern or the pyramid pattern. Since I have already given a little update about my feelings on pyramids, let me discuss how a snake is actually different than a pyramid, Just to mention the obvious, snakes are nowhere near the same size, but they are lengthy and they tend to travel much faster than pyramids do. This gives them a totally different set of uses. Snakes can go places, do things, and actively adventure about, poisoning or crushing things, then invariably eating them. Pyramids can do none of these things (except for maybe crushing someone, but it would be incidental). However, pyramids are far better landmarks than snakes, and do draw more tourists every year. 

What does this have to do with writing? Well, three are two styles of informative writing: pyramid style and snake style. Snake style is a piece that remains narrow and well-defined, following a very specific path forward. This is a very efficient way for pushing forth a specific idea and getting your reader to the destination you want them to reach. Pyramid style, conversely, starts at a core point and builds upon it, the underlying points reinforcing further statements that build toward a critical juncture when the entire mass builds to a ultimate idea.

The weaknesses of these have to be mentioned as well. Snake style is narrow, so it follows a very specific set of ideas, one leading to the next. If at some point the reader loses the thread or doesn't appreciate a point, they are lost. The whole point of informative writing is to explain a broader concept such as a philosophy or a mindset, so at no point are you allowed to lose the reader. This problem doesn't eliminated the structure as a useful tool, but it places a very high demand that each point clearly needs to the next.

Pyramids do not suffer from this fault, since the building process is massive. Once the first point is made, the second point makes constant reference to the supporting ideas beneath it. This goes level by level, but each point is more tightly defined, making a narrower, more defining statement until the final conclusion is reached. However, this style travels nowhere. It dwells in the same place, staying firmly planted in one place. Pyramids don't wander around, and nor should the writing, otherwise it loses its effectiveness.

Snakes are best for informative writing about adventures, travels, and explorations of life. Pyramids should be explanations of life, concepts, and more abstract things that are constant and absolute. The next time you read an essay, a self-help book, or anything involving philosophy, examine the structure and ask what form it's taking. Then do the same with your writing.

And at some point, see the pyramids. I've heard they're impressive. And big.          

Writing and Good Deeds

I have been doing a lot of family research lately, and coming across a lot of road blocks in finding information about my ancestors. Granted, some of those roadblocks are in the form of a paywall, but more often than not the problem is that the information just isn't available. Either the physical record was lost to the ages, or it was never digitized along with apparently every other piece of paper in existence, or nobody cared to write down the details. Whatever the case may be, the information vanishes into the cosmos, never to be seen again. What happened to my great-aunt Olivia? We may never know. Did I have a great-uncle Southard? Well, good question and very little evidence that I will ever discover the answer. Even with the grand power of the internet, there are limits.

Now, while many of these official records have vanished, a number of unofficial records remain intact - in some cases the original is still in my possession. Nobody knew that my great-uncle's son Elijah had a twin sister until I found that little piece of paper that talked about her birth, her death the following day, and the funeral arrangements. Someone took the time to write down the service they wanted for this infant, and someone took the time to put that paper into the pages of the family Bible. My great-uncle's daughter may have only lived for one day in 1899, but thanks to that sheet of paper, she is still known here in 2025.

I hope you can see where this is going. You see, I am a firm believer that no good deed is ever forgotten. And to be quite honest, I believe that we often do not understand what a good deed is when we do it. However, when we do things with intention and from a position of upright principles, they are usually considered good things, and they have repercussions on down the road. We might never see our deeds bear fruit, but that's not what life is about - in my opinion anyway. I am a believer in that old adage of planting olive trees even though I will never last long enough to enjoy their shade. As writers, we have a grand tool to do this very task - we commit our thoughts and ideas to the written word.

Now, I often get pushback from people who insist they have nothing significant to write about; they have no story to tell. Well, tell that to my great-uncle's daughter who lived for one day. She barely had a story, much less an important one, but that one piece of paper makes her memorable. Our existence is what makes us worth writing about. The fact that other people circle around us makes them worth writing about. 

In summary, when someone says, "My story isn't important," I give them a polite response that goes along these lines: "When you say your story isn't important, you are focusing on the word, 'story.' Try focusing on the word, 'your,' because that's the important part. It's yours, and that alone makes it a story worth writing."

So, if you are looking for some good deeds to do, you can plant those olive trees (which I found out require a surprising amount of maintenance), or you can write about people. Write down those stories, those details. Memorialize them. Give them a chance to live forever. That's a pretty good deed.         

A Little Something About Documentation

I had the privilege to see the Orphan Train display today - a traveling exhibit discussing the many thousands of abandoned children who were sent from the big cities to the Midwest and even further in the name of finding homes. This was a project that started in the 1850s but actually continued into the 20th century, and these children had every story imaginable. Some of these orphans were listed as foundlings, others lost their parents through more conventional ways such as cholera and gangrene (this was before medicine was really popular), and plenty were given up because of crushing poverty. My great-great-grandfather was (likely) one of these children, and actually maintained some writings about his experiences and stories from back in the 1870s - a priceless trove of information that became a treasured family heirloom.

Sure enough, someone threw those letters away.

Probably my great-great-grandfather

Now did my likely great-great-grandfather (ask me about the "likely" part later) have any idea that these correspondences with his lost family would become such valuable pieces for me four generations later? In all likelihood, no. He just happened to have the good fortune to be literate and the concern for the rest of his known family, and managed to stay in touch. However, as time went on, future generations would express an interest that he may have never expected. His simple letters became a window into another world that I might have a genealogical tie to (or possibly not). More to the point, his story as one of the Orphan Train passengers was contained at least in part within those papers. A part of me died a little when I discovered those letters were tossed into the trash.

Now, as writers, we have a certain obligation to hold on to our writing as well. Even if we merely write fiction and don't connect our words to the real world, our creations still show the world something about our real selves. My first stories were atrocious, hands down. They stunk on ice. However, that's the beauty of re-reading them. Those horrible stories show a stage in my humble, stunted progress as a writer, and offered a little insight into just what I was overcoming with my creative shortcomings. If anything, those crappy write-ups were priceless in that they would let anyone know that no matter how horrible they felt they were, they just needed time to improve.

And if you also keep journals - please hold on to them. Maybe you will never revisit them again, but the information they offer into the development of your writing process is irreplaceable. More importantly, journals and personal writings from any particular point in time give an unvarnished look at that period. My father's journals are priceless in that regard, mostly because I can see a person I could never know, read about stories that changed over the years, and get a better understanding of him growing up in the early 1950s - a world he didn't talk about much when I was young and never talks about now, mostly because he's dead.

I recently finished reading a special print of Conrad's Hearts of Darkness that included the author's notes in the margins. The book has so much more depth when it is seen along with Conrad's creation process and everything he did and didn't feel about different scenes. None of that insight would be available if he just tossed his old notes, so to him I say thank you.

And to you, let me thank you in advance for never deleting your Word files; even the ones with embarrassingly bad writing. Generations from now, people might just learn a thing or two from them.