The Room Where I Write

There used to be a magazine called “The Saturday Review” (I think that’s right). It was about literary things and writers—quite popular as I remember it in the l960s. One of my favorite parts was a monthly column that had a photo of a famous writer’s work space. You could see the typewriter, the stacks of papers, the books. Some rooms were messy; others were quite tidy. It was a peek into a mysterious world for me, and so fascinating.

Well, here we all are, writing—and writing quite a bit it appears. Please share and show us the room where you write.

Make my day!

Surely you can do better than these weak sentences.  Make my day!

1.  The cashier was annoyed when people came in at closing time.
2. Sugar is sweet.
3. The stadium was filled to capacity for the big game, and Bertha felt bad.
4. The remote control lay on the front walk.

And then?

Bowling balls. Druids.  Hearing aids.

Now what?

Harvey, supervisor of the Loading Dock and ABC Trucking, hates to delegate. His new employee, Albert, is frustrated. Harvey’s boss, Bert, is getting ready to write Harvey up for poor performance because Harvey’s employee, Albert, who is untrained, keeps messing up. Albert has already sent a shipment of propellers to an obscure warehouse. Bad idea.

Is this a story? (One hint. Harvey shows up with a fake beard one day. Hmmm. Why does he do that? Clearly, this is not stereotypical business behavior.)

Okay, I didn’t want to make this a workday blah-de-blah, but a chance to write creatively. What’s going to happen?

Characters

I’m reading a book called the “Beekeeper’s Apprentice.” It’s about a 15-year-old English girl, recently orphaned, well-to-do, and living with a creepy aunt in the English countryside around 1915. On one of her lonely long walks she encounters a retired Sherlock Holmes. They become fast friends. I’m only a couple of chapters in, so I don’t know the rest. I knew the premise before I started reading.

I realized as I read the beginning that I was secretly concerned that the first person narrator (the girl) would turn out to be an under-achiever, a female incarnation of Dr. Watson, doggedly trying to keep up with Sherlock’s brilliance. A minor sidekick.

I was wrong. Turns out she’s as bright as dear Holmes, and though young, clearly his equal in IQ points. Phew, I thought. Now I can like her.

Then I stopped. Do I always demand that I like and admire the main character? That’s my question for you. Must the hero be heroic for us to enjoy the story? How many shortcomings can we tolerate? Clearly, no one is heroic from A to Z, but is there a reader’s urge here that we, as writers, need to understand?

What do you think?

Perseverance?

Perseverance furthers, says the I Ching and also Calvin Coolidge. I couldn’t start my new chain saw today. Damn. I know it’s a new tool, but you’d think I could make the dang thing work. Hey, I even had a manual. But I hate to admit how loath I am to study such things. “Click on the cold start icon with the starter lever in safety and the feed bar locked. Hold on with your left arm until it goes numb. Stamp on the thingy that rests on the ground and pull the very reluctant cord that wants to snap your arm off until you hear that wonderful roar of a gasoline engine. Voila!” Yeah, right. Okay, I’ll get it tomorrow. I’ll be more patient. I’ll read the words, call the chain saw guy if I have to, but I WILL MAKE IT WORK. Perseverance. My favorite trait. On what tasks do you bring that slitty eyed, teeth-bared determination to heel?

Your Turn to Fess Up

 Okay, it’s time for me to probe and be a pain in the rear end. I want to know what everyone is up to. Do you still write for yourselves? Do you still have writing goals, dreams, and plans? Yes, class has been over for a while, but these urges don’t leave you alone. And yet, there are so many ways to write: blogs, newsletters, journals, poems of the day, family anecdotes, travel memories, birthday cards! Yes, the term “writer” wants to bond with the word “published” but perhaps you have no inclination to be on Oprah, but rather just keep the words coming and see where they lead. What are your writing goals these days? It’s a good question.

Time

It occurs to me that perhaps a blog is a gathering of thoughtful, creative people who love to write and consider the world at large.  What is going on?  How do we live?

Perhaps the conventional wisdom is that the blog creator is the source—of content, of structure, of direction, of wisdom.  I’m not sure I agree.  I’ve read your stuff.  In awe!  Is it all good?  Well no, but that’s not the point.  The point is that here, at times, you post things that take my/our breath away.  Some times, you find your power and post it here.

With that in mind, I have been wondering about the issue of time.  How can we tame it?  How do we make it do our bidding?  I, like other humans for some centuries past, have created this concept of measuring units so I can get a grasp of ideas such as past, present, future, and also our ability to master time, to own it, to use it to our own advantage.  But that bastard, time, is elusive!  He won’t heel.  He won’t stretch when I need him to stretch.  He won’t wallow, when I need space.  He even grabbed a gender without my noticing! 

Oh me.  Oh us!  Please think about and share your time with me.

What’s Lurking

My daughter took Beginning Writers Workshop without telling me last year.  One of the things she particularly valued was the message that good topics and interesting writing existed inside each one of us, just waiting to come out.   Yes, good writing would take work and practice, but she liked the idea of trusting that good stuff was in there.  And it was.

When she finally told me which of the short creative pieces was hers, I could see what she meant.  It was a small story about trying to put molding around a window, screwing it up over and over, and how she and her lover dealt with her frustration.  Small topic!  And yet, upon reflection, it was one of the most touching love stories I’ve read in a long time.  She hadn’t started out to write a love story, but that’s what came out.  She’d started out by writing something that was really bugging her—those dang window moldings.  Some revisions and connections later, true love lay its quiet hands on her words. 

It occurs to me that things like Ouija Poetry and Poems of the Day are also like this.  We just write and see what’s in there.  It’s not so much a journal as it is an exploration with our favorite paints and brush–the words and the page.  So how about a new Poem of the Day from you all?  (Zelda and I appear to be on the same wavelength.) Here’s mine to remind you to feel free to write poorly!

 

Poem of the Day, 050609

I have all kinds of music on my computer

I use it like a rope tow

Riding it up the mountain each day

Helping me cruise along and enjoy the view

Rather than get crabby about working.

But it does tend to lure me into the bushes

Where I have fun writing on the blog or emailing.

That’s the trouble with computers—

they let you do so much.

I do love it so.  Like Patton,

I am willingly addicted to the combat,

the struggle with the words, knowing they mean something.

It’s a wrestling match, and I need to pin them to the page

and see if they stick. 

It occurs to me that movies often add music to war.

But not typically Elvis singing “Don’t Be Cruel.”

Perhaps that’s wrestling music.

What does it all mean? The only way to find out seems to be…writing your way through.

It’s a Sunday night.  Long week.  I just wanted to mention that this small online space is such a fine refuge for me.  Your voices, though not always acknowledged in a timely manner, are read and appreciated.  I read and listen always. I sit back in wonder.  What fine minds!  What good words!  How I love you all!  I know I don’t say it enough, but you guys are such fine writing companions, such good word strivers, such mighty explorers, such surprisingly creative and engaging writers! 

We forge this link , and it is as if we reach out and touch a star.  What wonder.  You have made it important for me to revisit this strange space, to share, and also to experiment to see what comes out.  Is this corny?  Gee, I hope so.  I am a great advocate of the corny.  That’s where we all live.

Peter Pan was generated for you.  It did not exist until it was asked for.  And yet, I read it over again  (okay, yes, it’s tough times right now), sighing each time.  Yep.  Gotta love those short pieces.   But actually the credit goes to a musician named Patti Griffin, who sings a song called “Peter Pan.”  I listened to it while taking along car ride and thought, Gee what a great and deep topic!  So you, too, get to share, think, and ponder this archetype. 

May we never quit!