Taking a Break--Can You Bear It?

You may have noticed (and maybe not), my participation in our blogging communities has been sparse this week. There are a few things going on that are compelling me to limit time at the computer right now, but I hope to be back on board in a week or two. Thanks for understanding and I’ll see you soon!

Image by acordova via Flickr

Garage

Baseball caps hang on nails
in a row
in the neighbor’s garage–

awnings of color
above the workbench
that holds stacks
of terra cotta flower pots.

Written for and linked to Meeting the Bar at dVerse Poets’ Pub. Join us for some samples of Imagism.

Image via Wikipedia

In the last few weeks of my sister’s very brief (losing) battle with pancreatic cancer, we spent quality time together, enjoying the most intimate conversations we’d had, as children or adults. Our minds trolled memories shared from our childhood until the effects of pain management meds blurred Cris’ touch with reality. One of the things that hit both of us was how differently we recalled the same event.

We were both seven when our previously widowed parents married. My first night away from the home in which I spent my earliest years was the night of their wedding and, as it happened, the night of a significant earthquake in the Central Valley of California. (You can imagine the razing Mom and Dad had when they returned from their honeymoon). While we both recalled details of awakening to violent shaking and the lamp between our twin beds lurching to the floor, we differed as to whether it was in our parents’ or our aunt’s home. Personal perceptions shape our remembering.

I recently listened to a tape from “The Teaching Company” on memory as an inspiration for poets. The professor used a poem by Wordsworth–one, I assume you will recognize.

Daffodils

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Image via Wikipedia

Wordsworth wrote his memories of a walk taken two years previously with his sister, Dorothy. She also wrote her recollection of the event using prose. The details were similar, but the interpretation was quite different. By way of example, Wordsworth experienced the walk as a solitary event (I wandered lonely…) while his sister’s account includes the two of them.

The poem calls upon a variety of implements from the poet’s toolbox the add to the effectiveness of the poem. Wordsworth uses trope (the simile, for example, as a cloud).  He personifies the flowers, interacting with them. Repetition plays a role–note the variations of dancing in each stanza, as does alliteration.

For today’s prompt, dig into the archives of your memories and write a poem or descriptive prose of a memory. Go ahead, if you like, and use your imagination to embellish the facts and, whether writing poetry or prose, help yourself to one or more of the poetic devices mentioned above, that helped Wordsworth pen a poem for the ages.

To participate, post the poem on your blog, access Mr. Linky at the bottom of this page and add your name and the direct URL to your blog. Please return and visit others who have participated, commenting on their work. I hope you will enjoy this prompt and read a bit more of Wordsworth. His poetry is available in the public domain.

Photo: Google Images

As you lie dying,
the shadow of a palm
outside your window
peeps in, enters,
slips across the comforter,
nestles in its folds,
covers your pain.

In the distance
a couple bats tennis balls
back and forth across the net.
No strain.
An easy volley,
back and forth again,
like our ideas,
ricocheting back and forth.
Yours, then mine.
Divergent memories.

One fact we both hold true.
The night earth shook Tehachapi,
our lives were rent.
And nothing evermore
would be the same.

Outside your window now
a murder of crows descends to feed.

This poem is written for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets’ Pub. Tomorrow at Write2Day my prompt will deal with memories. When my sister was dying, we learned how different our recollections of the same events were. Our previously widowed parents married one another when we were both seven. (Her dad, my mom.) The night of their wedding I spent my first night away from the home that we had shared with my grandparents. That night there was a significant earthquake. You can figure out the rest. 

Stop by the Pub and enjoy the poetry, the poets and who knows what else!

Image via Wikipedia

Over the last few years, I’ve come to appreciate the interconnectedness of all the various expressions of art. Consider how many photographic bloggers participate in poetry communities. How often do you see prose or poetry bloggers insert links to music in their work? Or how about visual or performance arts as an inspiration for the written word? Today, I’d like to present a few brief thoughts about how music and writing are wed.

Music and meter.

We discover an obvious connection between music and poetry when we write or read form poetry, which often is defined by meter. But even in prose, the writer often (consciously or not) seeks to create a rhythmic sequence of words that is pleasing to the ear. I’ve found myself searching for a word of a certain number of syllables or with emphasis on a particular syllable because my ear tells me it will work better than the word I may have chosen in the first place.

Music as a metaphor.

Use of musical metaphors can be so effective in evoking certain moods. Think about how you “feel” listening to a symphony as opposed to hip-hop. There are scenes where I’ve mentioned background music just for the purpose of creating an emotion. Use of musical instructive words, words that tell the musician to slow down (adagio), speed it up (allegro), play louder (forte) or softer (pianissimo) are just a few examples of techniques to add an emotional context to both prose and poetry. There is a very useful glossary of musical terminology at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Musical_terminology

Music as Inspiration.

Many writers and artists use music to help inspire their work. I once read in a novel-writing how-to book (sorry, I can’t remember which one) the suggestion to create a sound track that represents the nature of your manuscript.

For today’s prompt, let’s turn to music. Here’s a few suggestions of how you might do that:

• Write a form poem that calls for a specific meter such as iambic pentameter.
• Use music as the subject of your short fiction or poem.
• Employ a musical metaphor in your work.
• Write a short essay on how you use music in your writing, or how music has influenced you in the past.

To participate, post your work on your blog. Access Mr. Linky at the bottom of this post and include your name and the direct URL of your post. Visit and comment on other participants in this prompt. Have fun with it!

Here’s a poem I posted a while back, a sestina, that combines music as a metaphor and meter.

Photo: David Slotto

Song of Songs

a Sestina

All the world’s a stage set to music.

You stroke my life like strings of Your guitar.

We’re born to fly so Your touch of gentleness

sounds a chord in my core that thrills.

Round and round You lead me in a dance—

the whirling rhythm swirls in my heart.

Rejoice, oh world; you hold grief in your heart.

Defy those who claim silence lacks all music.

Refute the clowns who refuse to dance—

Who, though called to joy, strum a dirge on their guitars.

Avoid the fool who rejects life’s thrill,

who sinks into the void with gentleness.

At dawn, mockingbird chants a song of gentleness

awakens the earth, enlivens her heart.

You stir in my Spirit-womb, Your Presence thrills.

Your promised love resounds of music,

Your hands play me as You would play Your guitar.

Our beings entwine and we enter the dance.

The earth and stars conspire to join the dance.

Ocean waves lick the sands with gentleness,

winds pluck the strings of willow tree guitars

while rain plants seeds in Earth—the Mother’s heart.

By day, the sun sings bliss—at night moon-music

plays arpeggios You designed to thrill.

I hear the door You open with a thrill,

arise to greet Your entry with a dance,

breath in the air You fill with sounds of music,

surrender to the call of gentleness,

responding to the rhythm of Your heart—

the wild beat of a classical guitar.

Submit my soul to music, the stroke of Your guitar,

Your voice, Your gentleness, never fail to thrill.

I yield to the tempo of your dance, lay down my heart.

At the Service Station in Bishop, CA

Surrounded by utility trucks
WasteManagement picking up garbage
a gaggle of hunters in camouflage
Drowning in testosterone
Arrrrgh!
Get me out of here.
-January 2

Driving the Great Basin

Bare-branched oaks stretch
on a bright winter’s day.
Oooooh!
Ghosts drape from their limbs.
-January 3

Owens Valley

“Little Lake” surprises
in the midst of arid land.
She shed her aqua garment for mossy green.
Whooops!
Ducks bob on her wrinkly surface.
-January 4

Art

This morning,
heaven’s artisan chose a feathered brush.
Swiissh!
Paints whispy clouds.
-January 5

Golf
Driving the water hazard.
Ecstasy.
Plop. Splash. Ooops.
Be humble.
-January 7

Photo: D. Slotto

Linking to dVerse Poetics, where Sheila Moore’s article and prompt deals with onomatopoeia.  So, I took the short poems I had jotted down for River of Stones and made a bit of noise!

And so I’m turning to you for help.

Winter is Past is the story of a woman who has dealt with a subtle fear throughout her life. She’s unaware of the reason behind her anxiety but when she’s faced with her best friend and kidney donor’s health crisis–cancer in her remaining kidney–she must uncover and deal with her fear of loss.

The book will appeal, for the most part, to women and to those who read authors such as Jodi Picoult or Nicolas Sparks, to health care providers and those dealing with issues related to organ transplantation. It is written with an eye to stimulating discussion in book clubs and similar formats  (there are questions for that purpose at the end of the narrative). While it is not Christian fiction, it will speak to those who read that genre (my first agent wanted to market it as such). It has a message of hope and survival. Perhaps, even if this is not the type of work you would enjoy, you know someone (wife, girlfriend?) who might like to read it.

Here is a heart-warming comment from a friend who began reading it yesterday:

Last evening I began your novel, at chapter 12 I made myself stop reading. I wanted to save what was coming next, like you put away a last piece of chocolate to savor later on…

You have a WONDERFUL way with words my friend. Having visited Reno many times to see John’s parents I could visualize the Truckee rushing its banks, and see the pictures you pointed so clearly with your dialogue. I LOVE your book!!!. Your characters are real and believable, I already have a dislike of Lauren!! And Helene needs to stop being so cranky!!

Yesterday… we went full tilt for the whole day!! Settling down with your book was my reward. I’m looking forward to what will come next.

Joan

If you do buy it and can write a review on Amazon.com or on Kindle, I’d be most grateful. And I hope it will be a satisfying read for you. Thank you so much.

Image via Wikipedia

As writers of fiction and poetry, I believe part of our responsibility to readers is to allow them to travel places they have never been or to revisit places that are familiar, thus evoking memories or heightening awareness.

Long descriptive paragraphs of setting often disenchant today’s readers who are used to momentary flashes of multiple images across a screen within a few seconds (Does this relate to the high incidence of attention deficit disorder in our culture?) but the fact remains that setting and the use of sensory description enriches the reader’s experience. One way to use this technique without losing our audience is employ it as a device to break up dialogue. Here’s a very brief example from my recently-published novel, “Winter is Past”

“I wonder how Michael’s handling it. Do you think I should I call him?” Josh asked me.

“Will it help?” Based on Kathryn’s assessment, I had my doubts.

Josh shook his head and fixed his eyes on a quail eating seeds he’d planted in the flower garden. “Maybe not, but I can try; I’ll call after we eat…”

Even more valuable, in my opinion, is the writer’s ability to convey emotion through setting. Consider this brief passage from the same novel as a means of eliciting fear, sadness and powerlessness:

I trotted after Kathryn who jogged along the brick path beside our house. My eye caught sight of a tiny wren, cowering in the dense foliage of a rambling juniper shrub. Overhead, a majestic red-tailed hawk circled, squawking a message of certain doom at the tiny bird. I felt tears well up in my eyes then turned my attention back to Kathryn who now disappeared through the redwood gate.

In previous posts, I’ve described a practice I use off and on. In your writing journal, at the end of each day, describe 5-10 things you have noticed throughout the day. Return to these lists for ideas to supplement your own writing then return to a scene you have written in which you have “told” rather than “shown” an emotion. Try rewriting it using a bit of scenery or a background activity to elicit that same feeling. This is helpful to keep in mind when you are rewriting/revising your work as well.

So, for today’s prompt, write a poem or a piece of short fiction that features setting and/or description. You may want to post a bit of dialogue that you’ve broken up using the above-mentioned technique.

How to participate? Simply post your submission on your blog, then access Mr. Linky at the bottom of this page. Add your name and the direct URL of your post, and voila–you’re in. Kindly take the time to visit and comment on other participants.

I will be on the road for a couple of days, so I may not be able to visit your posts right away. Thank you for participating and have fun writing.

Photo: David Slotto

January in the Desert

I am
a wild strawberry
woven among
low-lying oleander branches,

I am
the fear that brushes
by your body in
the darkness of a dream.

I am
cloud-fingers
slipping over
mounded slopes

of snow-capped
Santa Rosa mountains
bringing rain
and night.

I slap
the rounded curves of
wind-stroked cheeks
turned skyward.

I am the hummingbird.
I wait outside
your window
with promises of joy.

I’m linking this to dVerse Open Link Night and Write2Day, which I will post on Wednesday afternoon (4 PM PST). Be sure to stop by the pub to enjoy good friends, superb poetry and an on-going celebration of the new year. I’d love to see you here on Wednesday, too.

I wrote this last year during our stay in Palm Desert. My husband photographed this pure white (Leucistic) hummingbird that loved to visit our feeder and truly did bring us joy.

This is possibly one of the most beautiful videos I’ve seen. My wish for each of you is a joy-filled, creative 2012.