Write2Day–Endings

Photo: Google Images

As we approach the end of the year and the beginning of another, a theme inspires me: endings.

We’re writers/poets, so we must be (better be) readers, first and foremost. How often do you succumb to a late night reading marathon and regret it the next morning when you have to drag your weary bones out of bed and face the day? Chances are, the author of a book that keeps you turning pages into the wee hours of the morning has mastered the art of chapter/scene endings.

I learned a bit about this from my good friend and writing buddy, Judy. She’s written a medical thriller and my first novel was literary/women’s fiction. During one of our critique sessions, she told me there was nothing at the end of the chapter that made her want to read on. I had pretty well wrapped up an event without any inducement to the reader to want to know more. I countered that literary fiction is different from genre fiction, but as I thought about it, I had to refute my own argument. True, the conflict might be internal rather than action-oriented, but it’s still critical to leave the scene and/or the protagonist hanging off the proverbial cliff.

We can achieve this in a number of ways, but here are a few that I have found helpful.

Interrupt the action.  Avoid allowing a scene to come to a logical conclusion. Set up the narrative so that the reader knows something important is about to happen, but leave her dangling. Here’s an example from that recently-published first novel, “Winter is Past” in which Claire has to make a phone call that she dreads facing:

I punched in the numbers and held my hand on my chest as though to slow down my racing heart. Maybe she won’t be home, I hoped. She answered on the second ring.

By leaving the call incomplete, I invited the reader into the next scene. If I had continued through to its conclusion, that would allow her to close the book, turn off the light and go to sleep–maybe never to return.

Close the scene with a question. I find this works well in literary fiction where, as you know, the protagonist is plowing her way through a series of internal conflicts. Let’s look at another example from “Winter is Past.” Claire’s mother is on the verge of disclosing a family secret:

“I’ll do better now, I promise. It’s just that . . .” she fell back into silence. “Oh, never mind. It’s not important right now—we’ll talk another time.”

When? I wondered. And about what?

Complete the chapter scene with a promise. In this example, one of the characters is withholding information from another:

The dogs nabbed milk bones from the floor as I released control and eased into my husband’s embrace. “What do you have planned?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning. Just get a good night’s rest, okay? Come on, dogs; last call to go outside.”

Interrupt a scene in the middle of an unresolved emotional climax. Raise the question, What is she going to do about it?

By the time I met Josh downstairs, that dull ache had returned to the back of my head. I faked a smile that made me feel like a clown hidden behind makeup. “Let’s go,” I said, trying to squash the emotions still raging inside.

Those of us who write fiction may want to browse the work of our favorite authors and take a look at the chapter endings. What techniques have they used to keep us moving through the book? Now, lets look at one of our own manuscripts and see if there’s anything we can apply to our work to keep the reader turning the page.

While this post seems to apply more to fiction than poetry, take a look at some poems that offer endings that surprise. I ran across one today by Sheila Moore, posted for dVerse OLN on Tuesday that meets the bill. Endings offer poets fertile ground for ideas: death, ending of a relationship, meeting a life goal.

For today’s writing prompt consider one of the following:

• Write a poem or a piece of short fiction about an ending. You may want to reflect on the ending of 2011.
• Share a chapter or piece of short fiction with an ending that induces the reader to want to know more.
• Write a poem with a surprise ending.
• If anyone takes the challenge to review your own work in progress and revise it based on the idea of tantalizing the reader, you may want to share the result with us. Include both the first write and the revision if you like.

To participate:

• Post your poem or story on your blog.
• Copy and paste the URL into the Mr. Linky at the bottom of this post. Be sure to include your name.
• Visit other participants and offer your comments.
• Enjoy.

I wish everyone a blessed and peaceful New Year. That is what I wish for our poor world, as well. If I’m absent next week, it’s because I will be in the midst of travel. While I plan on posting, timing and Internet connections will be the bosses.

Presents

i.
sometimes you strain to garner magic
that supposed-to-be-moment
of days set aside to remind
us of this or that but snug
within your core of pretend-this-is-special
simmers a memory, an understanding
that this frou-frou feeling
inauthentic grasping of what-used-to-be
stands for something more.

ii.
down the street at the end of the cul-de-sac
an old woman lives alone
a mostly dark house with tight-closed
shutters and peeling paint
shielded from neighbors’ bright-light-christmas
oh-so-white reindeer on the lawn
rearranged by kids one block over
humping.

iii.
wrapping paper
bows
presents
neglected now in disarray

iv.
in the kitchen an argument ensues
it’s too early to put the turkey
in the oven remember last year
how dry it was

v.
from the den loud snores
emanate
uncle jack drank too much again
same as always

vi.
in here
alone
my thoughts prowl meaning
sun pours through the half-moon
window above the door
that later in the day
will welcome others
we haven’t seen or spoken to
in months

vii.
my dogs relax
cuddled at my side
backlit by rays
content and cared-for
knowing we are present

viii.
i get it then
that’s what today is all about

This is not meant to be a downer, but rather to look beyond the fluff of holiday celebrations and get to the meaning behind them. I’m linking this to dVerse Poetics and to my own prompt on Presents vs. Presence. Also to Gooseberry Gardens where the prompt is Holiday Traditions. .

Merry Christmas, all. I hope you do get to taste the magic of the holidays.

Response to Fire and Ice

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This is a response poem–an answer back to Robert Frost’s poem that I used as an example in Meeting the Bar at dVerse Poets’ Pub. It’s a fun exercise you might want to try some time when nothing seems to be happening with your muse. Choose a poem and respond to the poet. That’s all there is to it.

Response to Fire and Ice

Fire and Ice
By Robert Frost

Some say the world
will end in fire.
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
to say that for destruction ice
is also great
and would suffice.

What Do You Say, Robert?
By Victoria Ceretto-Slotto

I think the world will slowly expire,
no need for ice, nor even fire.
I fear Mother Earth will die of neglect,
with a whimper, a sigh
I suspect
she will quietly
die.

Write2Day–Presents versus Presence

Many of us are preparing to celebrate the holidays, each in his or her own way. Winter Solstice is the 22nd (0530 U.T.), reminding us of the play of light and darkness, this being the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere.

The holiday I celebrate is Christmas, the birth of Christ, even though we have no evidence as to when Jesus was actually born. The early Church took the prevailing festival of Saturn and adopted December 25th, the date midpoint in the event, in an attempt to incorporate the cultural traditions in which it found itself into its liturgical calendar.

Our world view has evolved, in part, thanks to the interconnectedness created by our Internet communities. We have become so much more aware of other traditions and thus attempt to become more inclusive. For me, this underlines how much we are alike, rather than emphasizing differences. In my lifetime experience, Christmas has become more secularized/commercialized and, for many, has lost its spiritual significance. Yet common themes of light, love, and giving remain important.

This week I was struck by a poem written by fellow blogger, Charles Mashburn. Without going into the poem itself, (I hope you will check it out) the message that struck me was the idea of Presence vs. Presents. As my own faith has matured, I see Christmas as a celebration of God, however God shows up in our lives: Presence. At the same time, I enjoy the anticipation of a child as I eye the Presents waiting under the tree and as I try to choose things that will please those I love. It’s all about giving, and receiving Love.

So, for this week’s prompt, I invite you to share your point of view about the holidays. And don’t be surprised if we encounter one or more common denominators. 

To participate:

• Write an essay, short story or poem and post it to your blog.
• Copy the URL and your Name into the Mr. Linky at the bottom of this post.
• Take a few moments to read other bloggers and comment on their work.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, Diwali, Holidays!

The First Time

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The First Time

The first time that I witnessed birth,
saw the crowning of the head,
that shock of thick black hair,
heard the melded cries of mother
and her son, the pain and ecstasy
in resounding dissonance,
the joy and fear and victory
of shattered boundaries—
that first time I beheld the
mystery of newborn life
I shuddered in the face of Awe.

The first time that I prayed in silence
without words or thoughts and stood
like Moses by the burning bush
that would not be destroyed and
offered (to the One who is and was
and will be) all that I have been and
am and shall become without limit
that first time I embraced
the mystery of the divine
I shuddered in the face of God.

The first time that I tasted love,
sought urgently to touch and hold,
looked into eyes that knew
my secret sacred spaces,
longed to please before receiving
pleasure, lost track of time, luxuriated
in the scent of passion,
that first time I received the mystery
of you, of all we could become,
I shuddered in the face of Bliss.

The first time I attended death
and held an old man’s icy hand and
looked into his eyes that saw beyond
me, wiped a brow expressing
nuances of sorrow and of joy,
the scope of everything we can imagine,
that first time I received a dying breath
and closed those eyes
I shuddered in the face of the Unknown.

The last time that I said hello, goodbye
I shuddered in the face of Wonder.

Come one, come all. The Pub is open for poetry and cheer at dVerse Open Link Night. Come by, bring a poem, warm up with some hot brandy and good friendship and share your work.

Power of Love-A Haiku

Image by ezioman via Flickr

Power of Love

Love is above all
energy kindling a fire
in the core of life.

I am posting this brief poem in gratitude for the nomination I received for the Perfect Poet’s Award, and to bring a bit of light into our celebrations of the season.

thirteen ways of looking at rain

thirteen ways of looking at rain

i
rain
symbol of cleansing
dreamtime confession

ii
the touch of rain
on a withered cheek
reminder of long-ago kisses

iii
when rain and sun
make love
they spawn rainbows

iv
rain puddles on asphalt or cobblestone
luminescent pools of color
moody reflections

v
rain puddles on dirt make mud
child’s delight
mother’s misery

vi
when rain freezes
and winds blow
kisses sting
like a lover grown cold

vii
some people are like rain
you reach out to touch them
they slip through your fingers
they are gone
but you remember
they were there

viii
some people are like rain
you wait for them
but they don’t come
then they appear uninvited
and disrupt your life

ix
mingle rain
with tears
purify your heart

x
rain’s caress
on a child’s cheek
an invitation to play

xi
too much rain blinds
just like too much of anything
moderation, balance
give direction

xii
dance in the rain
sing in the shower
be not afraid
enjoy freedom

xiii
when it rains
go walking
without an umbrella

This week at dVerse Poetics, the incomparable Brian Miller offers a prompt based on the amazing art work of Tera Zajack ( olive hue designs) and the Gooseberry Garden invites us to consider, among other things, December. Usually, this month is blessed with some form of precipitation. Where I live, it most often takes the form of snow. But this year, the only thing we’ve had is cold and wind. So this poem, inspired by a form given to us by Wallace Stevens, is more of a wish than a reality. I hope to see you at one or both of these wonderful poetry communities.

My browser would not allow me to upload the images that inspired this poem, so now you HAVE TO check out the Pub. Have a drink and share a poem while you’re there!

Write2Day–Writing from the Light Side

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This will be a somewhat short post, since I’m compelled to give my elbow tendonitis a rest. Last week we discussed writing from the dark side. We all know, there’s plenty of darkness to go around. So today, in order to add contrast to our writer’s palette, let’s light up the place…an appropriate topic for this season of the year when so many traditions celebrate light in one form or another. Think of Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza, Winter Solstice, Diwali…all celebrations that revolve in one way or another around light.

So, for today’s prompt, consider writing about your celebrations of light–or light sources such as the moon, the sun, stars or candles. Maybe you would like to post a humorous piece or something with bright happy colors. How about an event that features joy: children at play, dancing, or music. Take it wherever you like, but let’s get out of the doldrums for this week’s prompt.

To participate:
Write your poem or short prose and post it to your blog.
Access Mr. Linky at the bottom of this post.
Include your name and the direct URL to your poem.
Visit and comment on other participants.

You will find my poem for dVerse OLN in the previous post!

Next week at dVerse I will be hosting Meeting the Bar (Thursday, 3 PM EST). In that post, I will focus in more depth on the subject of contrast. Hope to see you there as well.

Keeper of Memories

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Keeper of Memories

In musty basement dark
of that old house upon the hill
an old man finds a tattered leather case
(dimpled faux-finish, I now see)
caresses it as though it were his lover,
while I stand by and watch.

Gnarled hands fumble
at a rusty clasp that keeps
the contents from intrusion.
In spite of trembling that I know so well,
unwanted company of his later years,
he eases the lid open on its wobbly hinges.

Pungent aromas escape to fan
familiar once-upon-a-time remembrances
of when I was a child.

Images flash forward,
rape my ears, my eyes–
and cold smooth surfaces, my touch,
so that a melding of sensations
hurls me back in time
to when I sat in expectation,
and listened to the quiet.

He brings the contents now to view.
No longer does she gleam,
yet there beneath patina tinged with tarnish
I smell music.

Clutching her now against his concave chest
he shuffles rhythmically across the room,
remembering, no doubt those evenings
spent upon the porch in twilight murmurings.

Once settled in between the cushions
of a tattered, dusty chair
he raises up the precious object to his lips and blows.
Diminished breath invades her inner being.

But I am overcome by remnants,
not of sound, but scent
that lingers still within the archives of my soul
in saxophonic exclamation.

A poem posted this week by Claudia (jaywalkingthemoon) set fire to a memory that I embellished quite a bit. Thank you for the sorely needed inspiration, Claudia. As a side note, I have read that the sense that most evokes memories is smell.

I am linking this to dVerse Open Link Night. I hope everyone enjoys a visit to the pub this week and I look forward to sampling your offerings.

The Quilt Project–dVerse Poetics

The Quilt Project

Each patch a life,
crafted with love,
clothed in pain,
cloaked in loss.

Tom and Kevin,
Jeff and Diane:
this virus does not
discriminate, like us,

Like those unable
to see the person
stitched in each square,
remembered

for gifts they gave.
Judge not the fabric
of these young lives
lost too soon.

Acres upon acres
of color, shape, texture,
bound as one
in a common shroud.

At the Washington Mall

In the late 1980’s to early 1990’s I worked as a nurse in San Francisco caring for AIDS patients and managing an AIDS Unit at Mt.Zion/UCSF Medical Center. The epidemic was in it’s early stages and the medical community still didn’t understand it well. Treatment options were limited and death was certain. During these few years, I learned to look beyond the stigma of the disease as I got to know my patients as persons. Mostly younger gay males, yes, but not exclusively. There was a nurse who acquired HIV from a blood transfusion, women who got the disease from unfaithful husbands and IV drug abusers. My husband and I lost a friend, Tom–a man who, along with his partner, had been an usher in our wedding. Many of these victims were talented, artistic and brilliant. (Tom was a PhD who worked in vector control for the state of California.) The Quilt Project began early on in the outbreak. We hosted segments of the quilt at the hospital where I worked. David and I toured an exhibit at the Moscone Center…a huge building where rows upon row of quilts told the stories of these lives. This poem is a rough draft, but the story needs to be told.

In loving memory of Tom Mischke

Linked to dVerse Poetics which I was happy to host on the subject of quilting.